Scars
by Laura Harkness
Summary: True love burns the brightest, but the brightest flames leave the deepest scars. */An EoT- and CoE-free joint with Ten, Jack, John Hart, and a cat named Spike./*
1. Chapter 1

**SCARS**

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **Dedicated to David Tennant, John Barrowman and James Marsters. Fare thee well, Ten.

"_Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."  
_Kahlil Gibran

--

**Author's Note:**

Standalone but follows my story "Love." I have been through dark days. Your encouragement and feedback are appreciated. In return I promise to try to finish this, my thirteenth story.

--

**PROLOGUE**

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, you rat bastard. Right here, right now." John Hart's voice was like liquid helium, the blade in his hand, the same razor-sharp blade his friend Jaad had used to slit his own throat, shined harshly in the starlight.

Gray gasped and involuntarily squirmed inside the choking, vise-like grip of Wil Beinert, her long, powerful fingers easily encircling his neck. Her eyes were wide open now, although everything was still tinted blood-red; she could see the back of Gray's head and John standing not far beyond.

"Because…" Jack's little brother croaked, but just barely, "you must listen to me! There is something coming for Jack."

"And you're telling me this why?" John snarled.

"Like I already told you!" Gray's eyes were watering, starting to go unfocused, the pale irises floating upward, their whites becoming more and more prominent in the dim light. "You've seen the Darkness; I've shown it to you, shown you the Darkness. But there are far worse things out there than the Darkness." His chest heaved. "There are relentless, inescapable, mind-blasting horrors. Someone must warn, must save my brother before it's too late. I know he'd sooner kill me than hear me out. You… both of you are my only hope. You're Jack's only hope."

John caught Wil's attention and the two lovers exchanged a long look, a silent yet not insignificant interchange. The relentless pressure around Gray's neck eased moderately. Gray gulped air harshly as he tried to fill his heaving lungs.

John Hart began pacing back and forth. "You're not very convincing. We know you're a habitual liar. Why should we believe you?"

With tremendous effort Jack's little brother stilled himself and blinked, "A question of honor."

John halted in mid-step, slowly sheathed his knife, pivoted and peered into Gray's face. Those four words had specific meaning. They had a significance, a history, and deep, deep meaning, "What _exactly_ are you saying?"

"You know _exactly_ what I'm saying."

John scoffed, "Wait, you're telling me you've turned?"

"I have been adrift in brilliant dreams of madness," Gray's voice had gone quiet; his panting breaths almost as loud as his words. "When Jack released me I went back to them, back to those who had come to be my life, my existence, my purpose. Back to the world-eating beings who patrol the threatening emptiness which stretches as far as the imagination can conceive. But everything had become unglued. I spoke to them as I always spoke to them, using sharp, pointy words and unseeable diagrams with the wrong sorts of angles. But for the longest time there was only silence in return. The emptiness… the emptiness took its time answering, and when it finally did answer the loudness of the response drove me stark raving sane."

Gray laughed; it was not hysterical but rather a sad, forlorn sound. "When it finally did come, the response was about Jack. Only and entirely and absolutely about Jack. It turns out that everything has always been about him, the Captain, my brother. I believe Jack knows this undeniable truth already and I think you do, too. I am positive that the Time Lord knows. Everyone knows, yet no one acknowledges. No one speaks. Why did those creatures come to our home world? Why did they take me? Why did they preserve me? Allow me to become their sycophant? Why did they…?" He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to not look at something dreadful like a car accident in the other lane or a corpse floating on a pond, "Everything has always been about Jack..."

John turned away and resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back to keep them from shaking. It sounded almost as if he was talking to himself, his words were so softly spoken, "So you're informing us is that these creatures are out to get Jack?"

"_Get_ Jack?" again the lonely laugh. "They are out to eradicate him from all of time and space."

**ONE**

After they left Cardiff, John and Wil had spent several luxurious cycles simply enjoying each other's company. Making love, making small talk, and telling stories.

Wil spoke of her childhood, parts of which had been gloriously happy, filled with music and art and the unsurpassable joy of learning. That's not to say her early years weren't complicated, or that much of that time wasn't often difficult. Having been identified at a very early age as an intellectual prodigy, she'd been privately schooled by the best tutors in all of Europe but had few friends or even acquaintances her own age. She was often lonely, left to herself and her books; even adults were intimidated by her precociousness. Still, her parents were social creatures integrated firmly within a radiant University community, and she'd been raised amidst brilliance, amongst the planet's finest academicians and artists, scientists and poets.

Unsurprisingly, John's childhood memories were far different, full of nothing but pain and sadness. Filled with defeat, despair, and not only mind-numbing loneliness but wrenching abandonment. He did not tell happy stories of his youth. He had absolutely none to tell. Those days from before he was discovered by the Time Agency, identified as a likely resource and put through rigorous and often dangerous training were kept hidden – he kept those stories pristinely and perfectly private. Even then, it was not until his training was long since completed and he met the man who'd later take the name of Captain Jack Harkness that John Hart's life would change for the better. It'd been love at first sight for John – the tall, dark, dashing and enigmatic human with the dazzling, hypnotic blue eyes had swept him off his feet. From that point forward John never looked back. It was suddenly so very clear that everything important lay ahead of him and that the past was best left forgotten. The journey forward had indeed been amazing, if at times terrifying, but John regretted none of it – not a single second.

As for the stories John told of his and Jack's Time Agency escapades, some were so outlandish Wil didn't know whether to believe them or not. But it didn't really matter as they left her with tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, and made her adore her handsome, sometimes spooky and always unpredictable lover all the more. She delighted in listening to those tales and he delighted in telling them.

The time passed easily, happily, and much too fast as Wil and John continued to find themselves more and more deeply in love.

Wil traced a finger slowly down John's body. They'd finished their lovemaking and were laying very close to each other, face-to-face on the bed, breathing in each other's scent, the cooling sweat still glistening on their flushed skin. "Your scars," she said, breaking the long, comfortable silence.

He waited a luxurious beat before answering, "What about them?"

"How did you get them?"

He took her hand, kissed it, and then held it to his left breast, above his heart. "I acquired them in more than one place, at more than one time." He frowned slightly, "There are far too many stories…"

Wil narrowed her eyes, shook her head slowly back and forth, "But you told me about a time – a specific time – Jack had to rescue you. When you'd been…" she could hardly say the word, it pained her so much to even think it, "tortured."

He closed his eyes, shivered involuntarily and said nothing.

"_Inamorato_?" she spoke their special, private term of endearment softly, urging him on.

"No," he said after a long moment, once again looking into her face, into her eyes, and into her soul, "I don't want to relive that tale. Maybe sometime, but not now, not today, not here."

She smiled sadly, "I understand. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Don't ever be sorry for asking me anything… anything at all," he whispered, pressing her hand more firmly to his chest.

Her smile became less sad, "Well then, answer me this. Are those scars important to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are they significant? Do they carry meaning with them? Are they a part of your persona? Your psychology? Your history? Are you proud of them? Fond of them? Are they _important_?"

He pulled a face, "I don't know. I've never thought about scars in that way. They're just there. Why do you ask?"

"Because I am wondering if you would like to have them removed."

"Removed? How?"

_I can remove the_ _cicatrices, Captain Hart._ It was Grasshopper. She normally didn't intrude on their personal space, during their private conversations. In fact it was the first time John could remember that the ship had communicated with him while he and Wil were in bed.

John looked at Wil questioningly. Wil nodded in response, "It is true, John, there is a medical procedure, the process has been available to you ever since we met. In fact I almost removed the scars without your permission that first time I saw you… uh… I mean them, after Grasshopper extracted the nanoid com device from the frontal lobe your brain. I was so very tempted to make them go away, even then, before I really knew you, but at the last minute I hesitated, I held back. It didn't seem right to perform the procedure without your approval. I've always known something could be done about them, yet I've been afraid, I guess, of asking you."

"Afraid? Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm thinking scars can be personal. They tell their own stories, don't they? You've implied as much. They are elemental reminders and they are an intimate part of your past, of your history, a past that I am forever separate from. I just wasn't sure… I still don't know…"

He smiled at her and then laughed out loud, "No, my scars are not an integral part of who I am. They do not define me. Nor do the events which created them define me. You're right, they do indeed tell stories… but stories I would probably rather not remember in any great amount of detail. Grasshopper?"

_Yes Captain Hart?_

"What is this procedure? Tell me about it."

_It would be a form of highly advanced laser surgery, Captain Hart. Normally the procedure could be done under local anesthesia, but the areas of fibrous tissues on your body are so extensive that it would be preferable to use general anesthesia. There would be no pain involved and you would be unconscious only for a very brief period of time. The cicatrices would be entirely removed. You would need to take precautions against getting sunburned for a short time afterward, but otherwise your epidermis, dermis and subcutaneous tissues would be totally normal. _

"Ah, I see. Grasshopper?"

_Yes Captain Hart?_

"Are you typically listening to your Teacher's and my pillow talk?"

"No, she's usually not," Wil interceded sharply. "I invited her to participate when I decided it was time to ask about removing your scars."

"Ah," John's eyes were sparkling. _Got ya! _He let the little white lie pass without further remark. "At any rate, moving on… if it is okay with you I want to put off my decision and think on it a bit. I'll get back to you on your most kind and generous offer. That is assuming there's no expiration date and if you don't mind?"

Wil, knowing full well she'd been caught in an untruth, shook her head and replied in a small voice, "No and no. I don't mind. Whatever you want."

Once again he brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing each of her fingers. "And what do you want, my _inamorata_?"

"What do I want?"

"Yes, you. Tell me what your heart desires."

She thought for a long minute, "I want to go back to Orolo."

"Orolo?" Not the answer he'd been expecting, not even close to it, he was suddenly mystified.

"Orolo. Yes. I want to go see Crade."

John took a deep breath and held it for a second or two, thinking of a million questions but asking not a single one, "Your wish is my command, M'Lady."


	2. Chapter 2

**SCARS**

**TWO**

"Captain?"

Jack Harkness raised an eyebrow in the Time Lord's direction, "Doctor?"

"Dyson spheres?"

"What about them?"

The Doctor was standing in their ship's control room at the central torus, his slender hand extended in mid-air, a spindly index finger pointing straight up. "Exactly!"

"Um…"

Was there the tiniest hint of irritation in the Gallifreyan's voice as he peered at his friend? "Do you want to go or not?"

Jack's mind worked frantically. Not only did the Time Lord not live linearly, or even believe in linear time, his thought processes often weren't linear either! Sometimes, if he was quick-minded enough, in these situations the Captain could figure out what the Doctor was jabbering on about. Other times, well… he was forced to swallow his prodigious pride and ask.

"What are you talking about, Doctor?"

There was a wicked glint in the ancient brown eyes; the previous whisper of annoyance had been a ruse, "Before we were so rudely interrupted…"

"Ah!" Jack finally got it, and none too soon in his own estimation. "Sorry, Doctor," he shook his head, clearing out the cobwebs and fuzz and whatever else that seemed to be clogging his neuropathways. "Sometimes you are so damned inscrutable!"

The Time Lord said nothing. He didn't even blink.

After an uncomfortable moment or two Jack attempted to fill in the gaping silence, "You're asking me if I still want to travel to the Callisto system of the Pergamum galaxy…"

The Time Lord still said nothing, his face an impenetrable mask.

Captain Jack Harkness scratched his stubbly head, "You want to know if I still want to go hunting wabbits."

_That_ got a reaction. The Doctor smiled, "Well, do you?"

"Want to hunt Dyson spheres?"

"Yes, Jack. Shall we take another turn on the cosmic dance floor?" The smile had become a huge grin.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he rocked back on the balls of his feet, his face suddenly serious. "I don't know… it seems like that particular trip might be jinxed. Not that I'm superstitious, but I mean the last time…"

"The last time my ship – our ship – was co-opted…"

"Co-opted by a malevolent force that we still have not fully comprehended nor entirely eluded, much less defeated."

The Doctor shrugged, "So? When has that ever stopped us from doing anything before?"

Breaking eye contact, Jack looked down at the floor. "I don't know that I want to go looking for trouble, Doctor."

"Oh, Jack!" This time the irritation seemed genuine.

"I'm just saying…" the Captain looked up again, blue eyes meeting brown, "I'm just saying that it seems dangerous enough traveling with you as it is, I'm not entirely sure it is wise to purposefully revisit a plan that ended up being such a bummer."

"A bummer?! Let me remind you that bummer, as you characterize it, led us to your friend Captain John Hart, who was, if you've already forgotten, in dire need of rescuing."

"I remember just fine, thank you very much. And yeah, a certifiable bummer! Such suspect destinations are not at the top of my vacation list, especially when there are an infinite number of other places we can visit instead."

"Like where?"

"Uh, well… I don't know. Pick one! Hey! What's going on? Are you putting me on the spot here, Doctor?"

"Does it seem that way to you?"

"Hell, yeah," Jack smiled but it was an odd sort of half-smile. "It just feels like we're seeing a steady uptick on the danger scale, from yellow to orange to red. Everything we do gets us into trouble, and not just us! Others too! People we care about! People we love! And the threat level seems to be increasing almost exponentially."

"Jack, are you getting tired of our life together in the TARDIS? Do you not want to travel with me anymore?"

"No, Doctor! That's not at all what I'm trying to say here." Jack looked over at Spike, who was sleeping contentedly underneath the coat tree on the Captain's worn old greatcoat. "It's just that I worry. It's one of my jobs, right? To worry? I worry about that darned cat, for example. What would happen to Spike if something happened to us, heaven forbid? If we walked out of the TARDIS one day and never returned? What would happen to him?"

The Doctor's expression became tender beyond all measure. "Oh Jack. Nothing is going to happen to us. And even if it did, even if I'm wrong and as you say we left the TARDIS one day and never came back, Spike would be taken care of. Our ship would take care of him, as she's been instructed to do, just as she's been instructed to take care of you if something happens to me…"

Only too late did the Doctor realize his _faux pas_, and even then he did not fully understand the true extent of it.

The blood drained from Jack's face as his mouth went cold and hard. "Is that what I am to you? One of your pets?"

"What?! No!"

"Yet you've made arrangements for me just like you've made arrangements for Spike?"

"Jack," The Doctor turned and took several steps, his face now only inches away from Jack's. "I care about you. I love you. Of course I've arranged for such an event, as improbable and distasteful as it seems. Just like I do for all of my…" _Whoops. _

"Say it…"

"Jack, the ship would take you back home to Cardiff."

"SAY IT!"

The Doctor sighed, "Just like I do for all of my companions."

Jack closed his eyes to hide the tears.

"Jack, what is the matter with you?"

The Captain went quiet for a long time. To his credit The Doctor waited – for once in his life – patiently, silently. When Jack finally opened his eyes they were one of the saddest things the Time Lord had ever seen, the extent of the former Time Agent's anguish clearly evident. And Jack's words were sadder still. "You told me once that I'd be more than a companion… that I always had been more than a companion. But now, I wonder."

"You wonder?"

"I wonder why it is you want me with you. Is it just because you don't want to be alone?"

The Doctor reached out for Jack but the Captain took a step back. The coldness of the movement utterly shocked the Time Lord. "What do you want me to say, Jack?"

"Say something that's true, Doctor. Why am I here? What is my purpose?"

"_Purpose?_ What is your _purpose_, Jack?" The Doctor shook his head in utter confusion. "I want you with me because there's no one else in this universe, or any other, Jack, who I would rather be with. I want you with me because I can't imagine my life without you. I want you with me because you're my first thought in the morning at my last thought at night. I want you at my side, always."

The Gallifreyan threw out his arms and raised his eyes to the ceiling of the control room, "This is not a _purpose_; this has nothing to do with _purpose_. I don't understand what that word means in this context. _This_ has to do with what we want, and I'd thought what we wanted was to be together, defining togetherness as we go along, however we decide to interpret it. Us. Together. Am I wrong?"

"No, Doctor."

"Am I wrong to say you always have been, always will be more than a mere companion?"

"No, Doctor."

"Am I wrong to think we have many places to go together, many things to see and to do?"

"No, Doctor."

"Am I wrong to believe we still have many things to learn from each other?"

"No, Doctor."

"Am I wrong to make an arrangement for you in case something happens to me?"

"No, Doctor."

"You know," The Time Lord's eyes were suddenly dancing although he didn't know if his next words would be met with hostility or humor, "you too could film a little holographic good-bye video just in case…"

"I already have," now Jack's eyes were dancing too.

The Doctor inhaled loudly through his nose, "I'll never understand you, Captain."

"Nor I you, Doctor."

"Well then, all is right with the universe!" The Doctor turned once again toward his console. "So… Dyson sphere?"

Jack nodded, "Dyson sphere."

The man from Gallifrey glanced over his shoulder at his friend, "And by the way, Jack, I confess I wasn't entirely truthful with you just now."

Jack actually and somewhat smugly thought he'd already caught the prevarication, "You mean about wanting to travel with me more than anyone else in this or _any_ _other_ universe?"

"Oh no, I was being absolutely truthful there, as Rassilon is my witness, Captain. It's just that to be totally honest you're not my last thought at night, nor my first in the morning…" The Doctor's words trailed off as he looked down at Spike, who had roused himself and was now purring loudly as he vigorously rubbed against the Lord of Time's leg. His way of reminding the Gallifreyan that elevenses was drawing near.

Jack looked down at the furry critter and nodded. "Rightly so, Doctor. Rightly so."


	3. Chapter 3

**SCARS**

**THREE**

Ianto Jones returned to the Torchwood Three Hub, walked into Gwen Cooper's – formerly Jack's, he never failed to remind himself – office and found her asleep on the job. Literally! Head resting on arms, arms resting on desk, Gwen was sleeping. At 1 p.m. in the afternoon she was sound asleep.

The young Welshman rubbed his face with his hand before tapping lightly on the doorframe. "Gwen?" he said softly.

The woman jerked her head up in alarm. She blinked several times after her eyes flashed open. "Ianto!"

"Yes, it's me."

"What time is it?" Gwen's voice was husky with torpor.

Ianto glanced at his watch as if he didn't already know precisely what time it was, "A little after one in the afternoon. I'm back from my meeting with…"

"Oh, right." Gwen cut him off. "How'd it go?"

"Traffic on the M4 was terrible. Otherwise, the discussions went about as well as could be expected, all things being equal…"

"Right… right…"

Ianto paused a few moments before responding. He tried to keep the sound of pronounced concern in his voice minimized, "You don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you now?"

Gwen appeared as if she was about to disagree, but then she wordlessly shook her head.

"I was in London yesterday, meeting at the Home Office about augmenting our roster. With Martha and Mickey permanently seconded to UNIT, and Jack on, um, indefinite leave, we're a bit understaffed, even with Rhys pitching in on an as-needed basis."

Ianto watched as Gwen stared listlessly down at her hands, which were still resting on top of the desk. He waited for what felt like a long time for her to say something – anything! – and when she didn't, he made a decision. She was more than a colleague, after all. She was his friend and he was worried for her.

"Are you all right, Gwen?"

There was a futile attempt at a smile, "Yes, I'm all right, Ianto. I'm fine, really. Sorry…" She chewed her lower lip. "I'm just having a bit of trouble at the moment. I'll be okay. It's… it's just that it has been a hard day. Please, forgive me."

Her eyes belied her words. As he watched they brimmed over with tears.

He walked over to her and looked down, "I'm not believing you, Gwen Cooper." Ianto's tone was kind, non-threatening. His eyes filled with compassion. Later, he would wonder if this was when the situation first went sideways – when he crossed the line from professional to personal. He wondered if all that came next was, in truth, his fault because of an innocent and heartfelt desire to help a friend in need.

Gwen gave up trying to hold it in and began sobbing openly. "And you'd be right," she managed to say. "I'm a mess."

Ianto leaned over and put his arm around her. "It's okay," he said, not at all convinced that what he was saying was true. "Everything is going to be fine."

Abruptly, Gwen rose from her seat and faced him. "I don't think it is, Ianto," she cried. "I don't think I'm ever going to be fine again. I wish… Oh God, I wish I was dead."

Ianto could not hide the look of shock and horror on his face, "But Gwen! It's only been a month. You've just recently found a therapist you trust. You need to give yourself time."

She looked into his eyes, her own eyes radiant with a strange, feverish light. "And now I'm not believing you, Ianto Jones."

Again he reached out and touched her, touched her shoulder. The contact was like a static discharge, he felt her quake, tremble, nearly totter. Without thinking he encircled her in his arms and pulled her into him, hugging her gently. "What can I do for you?" he whispered, meaning every syllable. "What do you need? How can I help you to get better?" His questions were genuine – with all his competency and cleverness he had absolutely no idea what he could do for this woman who'd been so terribly, horrifically abused; perhaps scarred for the rest of her life.

Her response shocked him. He felt her warm lips press against his cheek, and then almost as if in slow motion, as their eyes met and locked, Gwen reached up, cupped his face with her hand and kissed him passionately. A kiss that to his shame, for a second, maybe two at the most, he unintentionally, instinctively, returned.

The young Welshman pulled back, stupefied, but Gwen's hands were now clasped firmly on his shoulders. "Gwen! What are you doing?"

"I need you," she said, drawing him closer, pressing her body into his. "You asked what I needed and I'm saying I need you. I need you _now_."

"But Gwen, Rhys…"

"Rhys!" she spat. "Shit! I can't stand the sight of him. I can't stand to even hear his name, or to speak it. Him and his endless questions and concerns. Every time I see his face I'm reminded of what happened to me. Him and his interminable sympathy and empathy. His oh-so earnest caring and endless worrying. I detest him! I loathe him!"

Afraid of using too much force, Ianto tried to break free of her grasp, to carefully push her away, but to no avail. "You don't mean that, Gwen. Rhys is your husband. He loves you. He's stood by you. He's not left your side…"

"But I don't want that! Don't you see? That's not what I need. I don't want his fucking compassion! His bloody kindness! I'm tired of him feeling sorry for me! I'm tired of the pity in his eyes! I need something else…" Her hands were everywhere now, and they'd begun deftly undoing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt…

Ianto wanted to say _no_. Really, he did. Just that one word – it would've been so easy. But she was so insistent, her fingers were so expert, so strong, her lips so soft and warm. And it had been such a long time since… After Lisa there'd been Jack, just and only Jack, and no one else since. No one to fill the void in his heart, in his life, in his bed and in his soul. No one to fill the seeping, deepening emptiness of his existence. Ianto couldn't stop his reaction. He felt himself stiffening. Pressed up against him, Gwen felt it, too. It was all the encouragement she needed.

She kissed him hungrily, and despite the little voice screaming in the back of his mind he kissed her back. As if they had a life of their own, his hands fumbled with her shirt. Gwen smiled and then laughed out loud as she helped him remove it.

Ianto Jones and Gwen Cooper made love on top of her desk – Jack's old desk. The papers and knick-knacks and pens and paperclips falling haphazardly to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**SCARS**

**FOUR**

"Teacher, John, as requested we are now in high orbit above the planet Orolo, but there is one thing I must tell you."

"Shit!" hissed John as he proactively began pacing, "I hate it when she says that. It's never good."

"What is it, Grasshopper?" Wil asked; the sound of worry skirting around the edges of her words.

"I must inform you that Orolo is no longer inhabited, Teacher."

"What did I tell you?" moaned John. "Ungood. Very ungood."

"Shush, John. What happened to the people, Grasshopper? Did they evacuate their home world?"

"No, Teacher. The surface of Orolo has been devastated. The cities destroyed, the countryside strafed. There are no life signs. I do not believe that…"

Wil gasped audibly and John quickly went to her, enveloping her in his arms.

"I do not believe, Teacher, taking into account the large amount of inanimate organic material amid the ruins that anyone has survived."

"Hush, Grasshopper," John whispered. "Your Teacher is upset."

_I see that, Captain Hart. But does she not need all the pertinent information?_

_No, Grasshopper, I don't think that she does. Not right now. She doesn't need to know anything else._

_I understand Captain Hart._

_Good. Now leave us be for awhile, okay?_

_Yes, John._

He would hold her until she stopped crying. He understood it could take a long time but it has already been established that John Hart is a patient man. And when it comes to Wil Beinert, he is a good man as well. He would hold her forever if necessary.

"Crade?" she managed to murmur in a small, shaky voice after a few minutes, after her sobs measurably subsided.

"Yes, I know. I am so sorry, Wil. I am so sorry for your loss. Crade saved your life and cared for and about you. I know you cared about him in return. I know he was your friend. I'm sorry my love."

"All of them…" she cried anew, her pain overflowing, nearly consuming her.

And suddenly John understood the extent of it. He realized exactly what she meant. Not only Crade, and not merely all the Orolo people, but the Erasmii children as well. The children they had worked so hard to save from the Aedui prior to the obliteration of their home world. The innocent children they had brought to this place, this sanctuary, this very planet; his and her best intentions perverted. All their hopes dashed and their efforts for naught. This was indeed terrible news and John fought back the anger and hatred and disgust that rose like bile in his soul as best he could, but it was hard, so very hard. He'd always been the one to fly off the handle while someone else – usually Jack, or more recently Wil – was the calming influence, the voice of reason. He wasn't sure he enjoyed this new role. He wanted to rage, not reassure.

Worse yet, he no longer knew what to say to her. What _could_ one say in response to this degenerate nightmare? This horror? There were no words that could possibly fill the expanding, permeating sense of desolation. So he said nothing. Instead he simply held her close, stroked her hair and abided.

Eventually Wil's sobs quieted and John felt her tense muscles begin to ease.

He was just about to break the silence when the ship beat him to it.

"Teacher, John, I have discovered something that may be important."

Their eyes met and locked as Wil pulled back from his embrace and swallowed hard, "What is it, Grasshopper?"

"A small communications beacon. A tiny satellite in geosynchronous orbit around what remains of the planet. Teacher, it is broadcasting in Morse code."

John blinked, shook his head almost imperceptibly, "Morse code?"

Wil nodded, "A type of character encoding that transmits telegraphic information using rhythm. It was invented on Earth during the mid-nineteenth century. It's not encrypted or anything like that – it's analog – designed to be read without a decoding device. It's very, I mean _very_ primitive Earth telecom tech. In my time it is no longer used except by hobbyists. And…" her voice trailed off as she contemplated the sheer strangeness of what she was saying.

"And?" John asked, finally warming to the topic.

"And aeronautical navigation aids… How very odd."

John frowned, "What's it doing out here?"

"I don't know! That is what's so odd about this. I can't imagine. Grasshopper, have you decoded the message?"

"Of course, Teacher."

"Good. What does it say?"

"It says _hello_."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Teacher. A single English word, repeating endlessly in Morse code."

"Let's bring it on board."

"Oh, let's hold that thought!" John barked. "Are we certain this thing is safe? Grasshopper, it isn't booby-trapped, is it?"

"Booby-trapped?"

"It's not a bomb, or a Trojan horse, or a stealth weapon of some sort?" John scowled deeply, "It's not going to infect us with a deadly virus or turn into some sort of murderous robot or short-circuit your systems or harm us in any one of a zillion different ways?"

"No, Captain Hart."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, Captain Hart."

He thought it over. "Very well, then. Bring it on board but enclose it in a containment field, and be ready to jettison it at…"

"Oh John!" Wil was _so_ trying to not roll her eyes.

He rounded on her, his face hard. "No! None of that _oh John_ business, please! I've had too many supposedly innocuous artifacts go sideways on me. I care too much about you and this crazy ship of yours – not to mention my own sorry hide. What does Jack always say? An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure? I'm here to tell you I've learned that lesson the hard way. And more than once! Can we not be stone cold stupid about this, M'Lady?"

Wil then did something she hadn't done in probably twenty years. She bit her lip and counted to ten. Next she realized that no one had ever called her stupid before, so she counted to ten again, and then a third time as she took several deep breaths. Having thus managed to calm herself, she smiled as she took John's hands in hers. "You're right, of course, and I apologize. I'm letting my emotions get the better of me. Grasshopper, do exactly what John said, please. Bring aboard the beacon but place it inside a level ten containment field, set to maximum efficacy. Go to full alert. If you detect anything anomalous, transport it immediately into space and move us far away as quick as you can."

"Yes, Teacher."

A small, dark object materialized in front of them, the containment field shimmered around it but the beacon did not appear to catch any of the field's dull yellowish light. John crouched down and examined the artifact intently at eye-level. "It's designed to be invisible," he said. "It is made of some sort of advanced non-reflective material. It'd be damn hard to pick this up on most detection systems. How'd you spot it, Grasshopper?" John stood up again, his eyes scanning the room.

"The Morse code, Captain Hart. It is very distinctive. I recognized the transmission from numerous entries in the Time Lord Galactic Database. The Doctor himself has used this form of communication several times. The first instance being on Earth in…"

John waved his hand through the air, "That's okay, Grasshopper. Save the history lesson for later." He looked at Wil and shrugged, "What next?"

She thought for a few moments, "Well…"

The object flared bright white.

"Grasshopper!" John screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

**SCARS**

**FIVE**

Captain Jack Harkness from Boeshane and the Lord of Time from Gallifrey were privileged to have seen many, many truly astonishing things. Humungous water planets. Tide-locked rocky giants in orbit around gargantuan red stars. Fantastic, ethereal dark cloud nebulae. A super-massive black hole tucked within a spiral galaxy's core. A region of space the size of a solar system filled with tiny, glimmering ice crystals. A white dwarf star so small you could fit it inside your pocket (if your pocket could withstand 200 million degrees Fahrenheit). The list went on and on. So many amazing sights had filled their eyes, enchanted their imaginations.

But those were all natural objects, gestated and birthed by the wonders of quantum physics. This… THIS was something completely different. THIS astonishing thing had been built. Constructed.

It was a megastructure of solar power satellites completely encompassing a Sol-like yellow dwarf sun at a radius of approximately ninety-five million miles.

"Satellites but not satellites," The Doctor said in awe as he jammed on his glasses and stared at the TARDIS console display. He tapped on the screen and whistled soundlessly. "Some of these constructs are the size of small moons."

Jack Harkness pressed up against the Time Lord's side and peered at the monitor, "You're telling me those big things are man-made?"

"Well…" The Doctor grinned sepulchrally. "_Man_ isn't a term I'd necessarily choose to use in this context…"

"You know what I mean!"

"Yes, Jack. I know what you mean," the Time Lord sniffed. "So… moving on and employing the term _man_ loosely, what we're seeing here is a highly complex swarm of independent _man-made _constructs. These constructs are orbiting the system's central star in a dense yet non-random formation. I'm not sure I would've predicted it ahead of time, but the components' organization is ringed, and there are many, many of these rings orbiting around a common axis of rotation. The rings' orbital radii, with regards to one another, are precisely spaced at one-point-five by ten to the power of seven kilometers. The average orbital radius is approximately one astronomical unit – the universal circustellar habitable zone." The Doctor looked up into Jack's eyes. "The components of the rings range greatly in individual size and design. And you're correct, Jack, some of these constructs are very big indeed."

The Doctor turned back to the screen, and paused, allowing the information to percolate a bit and then sink in before he continued, "Of course against the planetary measure of an entire solar system even the largest of the components are tiny – little bigger than the moon of Earth. But…"

"But…" continued Jack, "they're among the largest engineered structures ever built that we've seen outside of science fiction; vaster than Earth cities and more massive than the ancient Egyptian pyramids…"

The Captain's hushed voice trailed off into silence and when, after a few moments, he once again looked up at him, The Doctor was surprised to see Jack staring off into the distance, far beyond the confining walls of the control room.

"Jack, are you quite all right?"

Jack started, "Yes, Doctor. Sorry, I'm fine. Please continue. As you were saying?"

"Yes, as I was saying," The Doctor continued to carefully study Jack's expression as he spoke. "This region of space is veritably humming, if not roaring, with energy. Many of the rings' components are collectors, and they are absorbing and re-radiating the central star's energy. The wavelengths of the radiation emitted by the collectors appears to vary considerably – depending on, I presume, the emission spectra of the heavy elements and substances making up the collectors as well as the collectors' temperature. As expected…" _Time for a test_, The Doctor thought to himself as he quieted, his ancient eyes suddenly luminous.

Jack's response was slow in coming, perhaps too slow. But the Time Lord had to concede that it did eventually come; Jack did pass the test. The Captain raised an inquisitive eyebrow in The Doctor's direction, "As expected…?"

"Ah! Right! As expected, Captain, the components alter the light produced by the central star, but not completely, and some of the star's natural light is still present in the system's emitted spectrum. Anything outside of that is re-radiated. It's brilliant, really…" The Doctor looked back down at the monitor and click-clacked a few keys on the keyboard with his index fingers. The display morphed into several multi-color emission spectra.

"So, what you're saying is that this place is wired, Doctor. And yet…" a strange, preoccupied look graced Jack's face. "And yet, there's no one here."

The Time Lord abruptly turned, "What? What do you mean?"

The Captain shook his head, "There's no one down there. It's abandoned. Empty. Lights on but nobody home. Not a living, sentient soul, anywhere."

"How could you possibly know that?"

Jack flinched as if roused from a deep slumber, "Erm… my wristband?"

"Jack… Don't lie to me." _Curiouser and curisouser…_

Jack Harkness shrugged. "I don't know how I know it – I just do. The Dyson sphere or swarm or shell or whatever the hell you want to call it is deserted. Barren. Abandoned. You can take my word for it."

The Doctor briefly glanced back down at his keyboard, tapped a key and the screen went dark. A darkness that was repeated for the briefest moment in the Time Lord's expression before he once again turned to face his friend. "What else can you tell me, Jack?"

"Um, well, nothing, Doctor. That's about it. This region of space may be awash in electromagnetic and a thousand other kinds of radiation. It may be humming or buzzing or rumbling or roaring or even fizzing, for all I know, but the vacancy sign has been put out."

The Doctor considered something for a few moments and then shrugged. "Well, some of the larger components of the rings are clearly meant as habitats. Agreeable gravity, compatible atmosphere, vast areas of liquid water on the surface. They have it all; they're little orbiting paradises. What do you say we go down for a look-see; try to find out what happened to the former occupants?"

Jack smiled, "Sounds good, Doctor. Like a proper adventure! And no need for EVA suits?"

The Doctor returned Jack's smile, "No, no need for EVA suits. Comfortable ambient temperatures – I'm not even sure we need our coats."

"Oh, but we look so much better when we're wearing them."

"I won't disagree with you there, Captain! What do you say – shall we go down and poke around?"

"The game's afoot, Doctor," Jack said as he grabbed his greatcoat from off the floor and brushed away some of the cat hair. "Ready when you are."


	6. Chapter 6

**SCARS**

**SIX**

Ianto Jones was sitting at a window in his apartment, overlooking the dark street below.

He was waiting.

Ianto very well knew what he must do. He really must put an end to what had begun so improbably the day before. It could not be allowed to go on. Every cell in his body was screaming at him that it was wrong and very, _very_ bad.

In fact he still really couldn't believe he'd done it. That he'd not dreamt it. Or hallucinated it. Or even fantasized it. He couldn't believe that he'd actually had sex with her. With Gwen Cooper. With the woman who was his colleague, with the woman who was the wife of his friend and occasional as-needed coworker. With a woman he cared about, respected and admired… a woman who had been, still was – he hoped – his friend as well as his comrade in arms. A woman who also just happened to be deeply, phenomenally troubled.

What had happened between him and Gwen could only make things worse for her; plunge her more deeply into the psychological abyss. On that account alone, Ianto felt terrible, almost like he'd taken advantage of the woman even though he knew – he knew! – that the sex had entirely been her idea. She was the one who came on to him, who seduced him; he'd never seen it coming. Not in a million years. Never in his wildest dreams. Still, that didn't make him any less guilty of what happened next. No… he hadn't been raped, nor violated in any way. She'd not forced herself on him. In fact – he felt his breath catch despite himself – he'd thoroughly enjoyed it. At the time it was happening, it felt good. To experience that kind of closeness and warmth again had been wonderful.

Damn it, what a mess.

He shook his head and mentally pinched himself. He really didn't want to beat himself up over it, it wasn't healthy – or productive – but _clearly_ the sex had been a dreadful mistake. He knew damn well that workplace relationships, even under the best of circumstances, were dicey. He'd learned how difficult they could be with his poor, never-to-be-forgotten and still intensely-missed Lisa, and it'd certainly been reaffirmed with Jack.

Besides… he'd watched when Gwen and Owen Harper had had a go at it, all those months ago. Of course he'd been too discreet to mention it to them, to even indicate that their relationship was so shockingly obvious to him. He'd noticed it immediately – the way they'd touched each other, the way they'd _not_ touched each other. That liaison had been potential train wreck in the making for the team and for Torchwood itself; he'd actually expected a human resources disaster to result from the torrid affair and to be honest he didn't really know how it'd been avoided. Moreover, he was fairly sure Gwen had never told Rhys about her fling with poor Owen. In fact he was certain of it – otherwise how could Rhys have managed to stand being in Owen's presence there at the end, before the physician died so tragically in that horrible accident at the nuclear power plant? No… Ianto was quite sure if Rhys had known Owen had been fucking his live-in girlfriend, his soon to be fiancé and future wife, that, to put it mildly, Rhys would've beaten the living crap out of Doctor Owen Harper on the day when the two of them first met. Giant, disgusting, whale-like alien being cut up into rancid meat or not… Rhys would've kicked Owen's butt to hell and back.

Ianto allowed himself the luxury of recollecting that day – of remembering Jack. Back when Tosh and Owen were still alive and he and Jack were still lovers. Jack had looked so good that day wearing the deep blue shirt that matched the color of his eyes, and with his vest and his fob watch. He'd always liked Jack in that vest. The Captain – invariably charming and debonair, of course, and looking so incredibly dapper as he pulled out his pocket watch to glance at it. That version of Jack – enthralling, charismatic, seductive – was one of many different versions to be sure: Captain Jack Harkness being such a deliciously, devilishly complex and complicated man. A man of many faces and facets. Of infinite desires and explosive emotions. The young Welshman smiled inwardly. That day at the slaughterhouse the five of them were really starting to gel, their sum total so much more than their individual strengths, and he'd been so happy just to be a part of it. To be part of the action and part of the team which followed, supported and protected their leader, Captain Jack Harkness. Had been so happy to finally feel that he was a full-fledged member of Torchwood Three, not just the tea-boy who was screwing the boss...

Ianto Jones winced involuntarily at that last thought and moved on, letting his mind wander a bit farther. The Captain and Rhys had sized up each other in the Hub that day during their first encounter, and watching Jack deal with Gwen's then-boyfriend, watching Jack in action – at first belligerent and full of machismo and bluster, but then diffusing the situation with acceptance, inclusiveness and randy humor – had been one of life's true pleasures. Jack Harkness – a source of constant surprise and frequent amusement. Ianto had never tired of the endless wonder of it all nor, for that matter, had he ever tired of his beloved, breathtaking Captain.

And he had to hand it to Owen Harper, the physician had never displayed a hint of animosity toward Rhys. Up until the very end the two men – who for a brief time had shared the same woman – coexisted perfectly. No posturing, no bitterness, no jealousy. Ianto bit his lower lip and leaned closer to the window as he once again looked up and down the shiny, rain-slicked street. He doubted things would go so smoothly if Rhys were to find out what had transpired the day before amidst the bric-a-brac atop Jack's desk. In fact, he was pretty sure Rhys would try to kill him. And perhaps rightly so.

_That's enough reflection_, Ianto said to himself as he repressed a shiver. He looked at his wristwatch. _Maybe she's not coming. Maybe she's come to her senses. Maybe…_

There were three light taps on the door. He turned and stared at it for a few moments, surprised.

Ianto stood, walked across the room as if proceeding to his execution, looked out the peep-hole and then unlatched and opened the door.

She was standing there in the hallway, her eyes full of tears, her mascara streaming down her face.

"Gwen? What happened? Are you all right?"

She looked at him and shook her head.

"Oh God, what's the matter?" His mind was racing, jumping to conclusions.

"Ianto?"

"What? What is it?" He searched her eyes.

"I need you," she said quietly.

The next thing he knew, he was half-pulling, half-carrying Gwen toward his bedroom, the two of them locked in an embrace, tearing off each other's clothing.

They fell to the bed, he on top of her, her arms encircling him, "I need you," she said again as she kissed his eyes, his face, his neck.

"I'm here," he murmured just before his lips met hers, as he pressed her down into the soft mattress beneath them.

_-00-_

_A little touch of Ianto in the night (to paraphrase Shakespeare) for my friend Lucie __–_ when she is ready to read again.


	7. Chapter 7

**SCARS**

**SEVEN**

John threw his arms around Wil protectively, using his hands to shield her head against his chest, and screamed again, only this time much louder. "Grasshopper! Get rid of that thing! NOW!"

"Captain, Teacher," the ship responded calmly. "Have no fear. The satellite is not dangerous. It is simply asking for permission to communicate further with you."

"What?" John was still hunkered down over and around Wil, encompassing her body with his own.

"The artifact wishes to transmit another message."

John looked around sheepishly, released Wil's head and straightened his body into a vertical position as he readjusted his jacket. "Oh. Well. That's all right, then. M'Lady?"

Wil stepped back from him, smoothed out her shirt and smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked her.

"You."

"And why?"

"You really are a hero, aren't you?"

John plunged his hands into his pockets as he shook his head vehemently. "Me? Hero? Nope. No way," he sputtered.

Wil nodded with equal ardentness, "Yeah way. Heart of an explorer. Soul of a poet. And a certifiable, Grade A, Prime Cut hero."

He smiled thinly. "Aw, look what you're doing now, you're making me blush."

And she was.

But it was more complicated than that.

John desperately wanted to clear up Wil's gross misconception. He really did. He wanted to tell her that in truth he was the farthest thing imaginable from a hero. That it only seemed like he was valiant because the current situation was amenable to certain kinds of seemingly brave-like behavior. A certain style of theatrical performance. Sure he could act the hero when the script called for it, but he was in fact and in truth a coward at heart. He'd already tried to tell her this very thing once before and probably should try again – although it was likely she'd eventually discover it for herself one day, without his assistance. Why did no one ever believe him? _I'm no hero and sooner or later I'll prove it to you_ he wanted to say to her, but he opted out of that discussion for the time being (after all, it was the cowardly thing to do). Instead he tipped his head in the direction of the mystery object. "Shall we listen to what it wants to tell us?" he asked her.

She nodded silently in response.

A tall, black-clad, ebony-skinned figure materialized before them.

Wil inhaled sharply. "Crade," she half-whispered as she reached for John's hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

And so it was. Or rather an image of Crade – to be specific, a hologram of the Orolo leader. His large, round eyes were luminous against his dark face.

John had met Crade once before, briefly, but had totally forgotten how freaking tall the man was. Over two meters, at least! Massive and thoroughly intimidating in appearance, and yet the imposing person who towered over him had at the same time seemed so astonishingly gentle.

"Grasshopper? Is there audio accompanying the video?" John asked after they watched and waited for the better part of a minute.

"I believe so, Captain. I recommend patience."

"I can be patient!" John snapped, although he hadn't intended the words to sound so sharp. He squeezed Wil's hand gently, "Sorry," he murmured. She returned the squeeze.

The hologram moved; pushed back the cowl which was partially covering its face and began to speak. The tone was serene, but at the same time deeply resonant, almost booming.

"My friend, this communication has been activated by the sound of your voice. Once it plays, the message will be gone forever along with the device which is now projecting my image and transmitting my words.

"The enemy has come. There was little warning, but not _no_ warning. The enemy seeks someone they call the captain. Perhaps this captain is he with whom you travel. The fortunate man to whom you were so anxious to return when you last left us. Perhaps it is someone else. In either case I will give them no information about you, my friend. We are a proud people. We do not bend to threats. Our resolve does not waver. We defend and preserve and do not relinquish or surrender or betray. We choose to stand and fight, not flee.

"My friend, you said the Orolo people hold a special place in your heart. That makes me glad. You hold a special place in our hearts as well. And within my own heart. Always. I wish you peace and happiness."

The image faded and disappeared. Wil turned to the containment field and saw only the glimmering light. As forewarned, the object inside it had vanished without a sound and without a trace.

John released Wil's hand and began pacing nervously, "What do you think that was about?"

"Oh God," she breathed. "I don't know."

"What?"

"Everywhere we go…"

"Huh?"

"I'm so tired of the death and the destruction and the chaos."

He stopped and stared at her. She just stared back at him.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked at length.

She closed her eyes, "I have no idea."

"Well then, you'd best get out of the kitchen if you can't stand the heat. Go back home to your old life as an eminent professor at some prestigious Earth university or another."

She looked at him aghast, her eyes filled with tears, "John!"

"I'm just saying," he resumed his pacing. "If you can't take the heat you don't belong out here. It's as simple as that. Me, this ship of yours, _nothing_ is going to help you if you can't stand up to whatever it is that is lurking in the darkness… if you can't stand up to whatever obstacle might be thrown across your path… if you can't stand up to whatever horrors lie in wait around the next corner."

"But the Orolo. The Erasmii…"

"Yeah? What about them? They are instances, just two examples among millions. Billions! They aren't – _weren't_ – special." He laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh; not pleasant at all. "Everything, everyone ends. Some endings are worse than others. More unfair, more undeserving, more maddening, more depressing, more unacceptable. The question is…" again he stopped, "what are you going to do about it?"

She looked at him, her tear-streaked face a ghostly white. She looked at him and was unable to speak.

"Is that it?" he said finally and so very softly. "Are you giving up?" He tried to smile, "There's no shame in it you know. Not all of us are Captain Jack Harkness."

"Nor Captain John Hart," she added sadly.


	8. Chapter 8

**SCARS**

**EIGHT**

They'd landed their TARDIS on one of the largest of the Dyson ring components which possessed habitation elements. Some of the more massive constructs were clearly industrial and not very pleasant places, but this particular "satellite" appeared to be some kind of park or nature reserve. Of course the local grass didn't look like Earth grass, and the local trees didn't look like Earth trees. The colors were odd and the smells strange. Nonetheless, the landscape was beautiful and exhilarating to behold. But Jack had been absolutely correct: other than the vegetation, which seemed quite happy at the moment (if not a bit overgrown, thank you very much), there wasn't much else the planetoid had to offer. No buildings of any sort, and no welcoming committee offering to take The Doctor and the Captain to their leader.

After they left their ship the two men wandered in amicable silence for perhaps fifteen minutes, simply enjoying the exquisiteness of the place. When the hush was finally broken it was, of course, The Doctor who broke it. He stopped and lightly touched the Captain on his shoulder.

"So, Jack."

Jack turned to face his comrade, "Yes, Doctor?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"Tell me about what happened with Iserliss."

"I've already briefed you, Doctor. He killed me a bunch of times. Established he was a sadistic bastard with his words as well as his deeds. He performed some thoroughly nasty medical procedures on me. He shaved my head, drilled holes in my skull. Extracted some of my brain tissue in order to examine it, experiment with it. There's not much else I can tell you…"

The Doctor reached up, rubbed the dark stubble that was covering Jack's scalp and then plunged his hand back into his coat pocket. "No, I think there's more. There's something you're not telling me. Something _is_ different about you, Jack. How is it you were so certain there's nothing conscious living out here in the Dyson swarm? Don't you find it at all curious you somehow unequivocally knew that? Do you not sense that something has changed inside of you?"

Jack pursed his lips and inhaled loudly through his nose before answering, "Iserliss removed chunks of my brain. He found artificial organelles in my cells. There are abnormalities in my mitochondrial DNA. He said it had been edited, that I'd been bioengineered on a microcellular level. He implied…"

"Yes, Jack?"

"He implied that I might no longer be human."

The Doctor nodded sadly, "And what do you think, Jack?"

"I don't know. I feel…" The Captain's voice trailed off and he shook his head, a pained expression on his face.

"Yes? How do you feel, Jack?"

"It's like I told Wil after we, uh, well… never mind the specifics. I told her that I couldn't really explain it but that I felt different."

"After you what?"

"What?"

"After you and Wil did what?"

Jack sighed resignedly, "You're getting a little personal here, Doctor. After we made love, okay? Somehow I knew she was in trouble, that she was hearing things… reading people's thoughts. But that's not why… It's not why I wanted her. No, I wanted her because I needed her. I needed her to help me reclaim my life, maybe my soul, which were both hanging so tenuously over the abyss thanks to Iserliss. But look, it wasn't just that. I also knew she needed me. I wasn't sure why, or how, but I knew I could help her just like she could help me. I saw clearly that we could help each other, and we did, Doctor. We did. We _needed_ each other."

"Was that wise, Jack?"

"Wise?" Jack's face went dark, his eyes hard. "You mean the sex? Well that's none of your damn business now is it, Doctor?"

The Doctor's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "No, Jack. You're right. It isn't any of my business, damn or otherwise, but that's not what I meant. I meant was it wise trying to help her with her problem. You know what Wil is…"

"No, Doctor, I don't! What is she? Why don't you tell me? Do you know what she is?"

"Not with total certainty, but I can make a decent educated guess or two. She's part Time Lord, Jack. And part Terraformer. And that relationship she has with her ship – and for all we know with our ship as well? She's part TARDIS, too. She's still also part human… so very, very human."

"And on top of all that, she's John's lover," Jack conceded.

"Well, there is that, to be sure, and it's another potential can of worms. But now you've gone and done something that has changed Wil. You helped her with the voices in her head but you don't quite know by what means, and neither you nor I know precisely what was wrong with her to begin with. We don't know how or why she acquired that telepathic ability. And now you tell me you somehow cured her of it by making love to her? I half-expect you to start reading my mind just like she did," The Doctor dry-swallowed as he involuntarily shivered. "I don't know, Jack, like I've always said, you're a complicated thing. And now you're more complicated than ever, apparently."

"I may not be human, Doctor, thanks to Rose or Iserliss or perhaps even Wil, if what you're implying is true, but what about _him_?" Jack was suddenly staring over the Time Lord's right shoulder. "Is _he_ human?"

The Doctor pivoted and then took a step back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder at Jack's side. "Hmm, I'm not certain. He does look sort of somewhat human-ish."

"Robot?" Jack asked nonchalantly.

The Doctor shook his head, "Hologram."

Taking his right hand out from his coat pocket the Time Lord waved and smiled brilliantly. "Hello! I'm The Doctor and this is Captain Jack Harkness. Who might you be?"

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

"Don't you have a name?" The Doctor responded cheerily. "I'm The Doctor and he's…"

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

"How about a designation? Do you have a designation? You ought to have a designation."

"I am not…"

"Yes, yes, I know. I heard it the first time. You are not programmed to respond in that area." The Doctor's smile had faded a wee bit.

The presumed hologram intently scrutinized The Doctor. "Gallifreyan. One point eight five meters. Seventy-seven point one kilograms. Nine hundred and four Terran years. Non-violent, likely peace-loving. Threat level zero point zero two five." Then the entity turned its attention to Jack and seemed to stare for quite a long time before continuing its narrative. "One point eight three meters." Again there was a lengthy pause. "Eighty-eight point five kilograms. Violent, incontestably dangerous. Threat level…"

"Hey!" Jack yelped, "I'm not eighty-eight point five kilograms! Take that back right now!"

"Jack…" The Doctor hissed. "Be quiet for once in your life."

Jack raised an eyebrow and clamped his mouth shut.

Again the Time Lord smiled brilliantly. "Hello! I'm The Doctor and this is Captain Jack Harkness. We're friendly, peaceful visitors. We pose no harm. Do you have a purpose here?"

"I am the protector."

"Ah. The protector. Very good! Very good indeed! So you have a purpose but you don't have a name or designation, is that right?"

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

"Hey Doctor," Jack nudged the Time Lord with his elbow, "let's call it Norman."

"Norman? Is that a pop culture reference?"

Jack shrugged, "I guess. Kind of..."

"Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"Star Trek?"

"Bingo!"

"Good enough." The Doctor again directed his attention at the holographic entity. "So, Norman. Is it all right if I call you Norman? Good! Can you tell us, Norman, about this purpose of yours?"

"I am the protector."

"Yes, but the protector of what?"

"I am the protector."

"Yes, I understand. But the protector of…?"

"Of all of this."

"This place?"

"Yes."

"You mean this construct?"

"I mean everything."

"Ah," The Doctor said. And then _sotto voce_: "He's the protector of everything, Jack."

"I heard, Doctor."

"Okay, Norman. May I still call you Norman? So you are the protector of everything?"

"That is correct."

"This place, and…"

"This place and all places like it."

"Ah, I see. Right…"

"Ask Norman," Jack interjected in a quiet voice, "who he's protecting everything from."

"From all threats," Norman responded before the Time Lord could address him.

"Ah!" said The Doctor. "And you…"

"Gallifreyan, threat level zero point zero two five. Acceptable," Norman curtly interrupted The Doctor. Then he turned toward Jack. "Unidentified bipedal carbon-based organism, threat level eight point seven three. Eight point seven three is an unacceptable threat level value."

"Uh, right," groaned the Captain, darkly envisioning where the conversation was heading.

The Doctor quickly stepped out in front of Jack, arms extended horizontally into the air, coat swirling around his legs. "No, no, no, no, no! Captain Jack Harkness is not a threat. I vouch for him! He's fine, really! He's good! He's actually quite lovely once you get to know him!"

The vaguely human-shaped hologram took a single ominous step forward. "A threat level value of eight point seven three is unacceptable. Move aside, please."

"Run!" screamed The Doctor.

"Running!" yelled Jack.


	9. Chapter 9

**SCARS**

**NINE**

"Now _that_ is something I definitely need to talk to you about," John said to her.

"What?" Wil was definitely _not_ in a talking mood. The recent revelations concerning Orolo had simply been too much for her. She'd once – so long ago it now felt like – baldly accused The Doctor of wreaking endless despair and devastation. She'd condemned him for the death which seemed to steadfastly follow in his wake. For the pain and suffering that were his ubiquitous companions. She'd been impertinent to be sure, and in some respects so very young, especially in comparison to the venerable Time Lord, but yet, undeniably, there was a certain amount of truth in what she had said. And now that truth had come back to haunt her in ways she'd never before imagined, much less expected. It made her so very, very tired.

John was suddenly in her face. "What do you mean what? This hero crap – you've got to cut that out, Wil. You damn well know it's not true."

"Poet, explorer, hero. Jack was right, John. Jack is always right, and you know that." She was weary and heartsick, and could muster only a weak retort.

Captain John Hart smelled blood in the water, his eyes flashed, "Jack is full of shit, and you know THAT."

Wil pursed her lips, shook her head. "Over and over again you've shown it, you've proven it to me. You're the most courageous person I know, bar none."

He snorted, "For every one of those incidents I can list you ten, if not a hundred, where I've done nothing but been the consummate coward. Done nothing but been worried only for myself. Done nothing but run away as fast as possible in order to save my own sorry hide. I am only, always, thinking solely about myself and what is best for me. I'm greedy, self-serving, egotistic and self-centered. I am a mercenary, Wil. Right now I want you, body and soul, and I will do anything – _anything!_ – to stay with you. But the moment that changes – the moment I find something or someone better, or you suddenly turn into a danger or threat to me, or simply become boring, I'll be gone. You'll never even see me leave. It's the way I've always been, the way I always will be. I'm sorry but you have to accept that. It's for your own good. It's time you give up on this hero shit."

During his tirade she'd lowered her eyes to the floor, started crying.

"I've told you all this before but you've never listened to me. I lie, I cheat, I steal. I take advantage. I manipulate. I betray. I mislead. I seduce. I entice and I delude. All you have to do is ask Jack. He'll tell you. He'll tell you the truth if you're not too afraid to hear it. Oh yes, I'm sure he'll be _more_ than happy to tell you. I'm your worst nightmare and to be perfectly honest I can't imagine what in the living hell you're doing with me."

She raised her face, looked up at him, her eyes improbably blue, like an accident in a chemistry lab. Their intense brightness caused him to inhale sharply; nearly take a step back away from her.

"What in God's name are you doing?" she growled.

"For once I am being truthful with you."

"_No. You're. Not._ This is utter falsehood. Invention. Untruth. Tell me why you're doing this. Why are you hurting me?"

"Because," he said, his nails cutting deep into his palms, "it is time for you to go home."

"Bullshit."

"You don't belong out here," he spat, well past the point of no return. "You know it. I know it. You said it yourself. Study the abyss long enough, Wil, and the abyss will study you right back. You're not cut out for the abyss. Admit it. Face it. Go home, earth-girl. Like Jack always says, those who can't do, teach. So go back to teaching. Leave the hard, dirty work to those of us who have the stomach for it. Or who want to profit from it. Or who have nothing better to do with our miserable, pitiful lives. Get out of here before the abyss destroys you." He turned away from her.

"Fuck you!" Wil hissed.

"What's that?"

"I said FUCK YOU!"

"Too late for that, earth-girl," he muttered, shaking his head.

That's when she went after him. She snarled savagely, her hands, her fingers extended like claws, her teeth bared.

But John was ready for it. He pivoted, caught Wil by her wrists, tried to keep her fingernails away from his face and eyes. In this he barely succeeded. Using all his strength he got her off-balance, leveraged her around, pulled the back of her shoulders into his chest and pinned her arms painfully across her breasts.

"Good!" he murmured into her ear. "Have you stopped feeling sorry for yourself?"

She roared a feral scream and struggled like a wild animal.

"Listen to me," he pressed her body into his, his voice harsh, hard. "This anger you're feeling? It's good. It's very good. It's what you should be feeling. You _should_ be angry at me for saying those things. And you should be angrier still about what happened to Crade, to the Orolo, to all those children you worked so hard to save, who you risked your life to save, and about Jaad and the Erasmii as well. And the countless others who've been obliterated by this horrendous abomination. What's going on here is a perversion. I don't know about you but I've had about enough of it. Screw drawing lines in the sand, it's time to fight back. It's time to double-down and take the fight to them."

He felt her body relax, if only just a bit. "Now," he half-whispered, "I'm going to let you go. You can kill me if you want to. Or you can send me away. You can do anything you like except one thing, and that one thing is wallow in self-pity. I won't have it. None of it. You're better than that."

John released her arms and took a step back.

She whirled around and slapped him so hard across the face that he saw stars.

"Don't ever do that again!" she snapped.

"Do what again?"

"Disparage yourself like that."

He couldn't help it, he laughed out loud.

"I mean it. I'm serious. I love you and if that isn't evidence enough that you're a good and decent man, Jack loves you too. And Jack may be full of bullshit on occasion but when it comes to love he doesn't ever mess around. You are the bravest person I know and nothing – _nothing!_ – is ever going to convince me otherwise, Captain John Hart. So cut the crap, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow and nodded demurely.

She nodded back. "Good. Now, how about we go down to the surface of the planet and do some reconnaissance. I want to take a look around, see if we can learn anything else about these fucking monsters that are murdering our friends. The fucking monsters that almost killed you. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes ma'am," John winked and saluted. He wanted to kiss her but something stopped him: her eyes were still too freaking blue.

Although the situation had diffused, Wil's heart continued to race and she felt slightly light-headed and short of breath. She knew it would take a while for her adrenalin level to go back to normal. In the meantime she might as well take advantage of the elevated energy. "Take us down, Grasshopper."

There was a soft whooshing sound and then: "Teacher, I would not advise staying on the planet's surface overlong. Radiation levels, while not unacceptable, are extremely high."

"That's okay, Grasshopper. Go ahead and closely monitor our life signs. Bring us back if you feel it is necessary. In the meantime, beam us outside, please."

They materialized atop a rocky hill, overlooking the still-smoking ruins of what once was a city.

Wil dry-swallowed. It felt as if the air was almost too thick to breathe. The sky was deep maroon, and the remnants of the broken structures below cast razor-sharp shadows across a flat plain baked to the consistency of pottery under a blood red moon. If she squinted she could just make out the glyphs on the alien buildings, symbols behind which the Orolo lay dead, murdered by something unbelievably, inconceivably evil. She looked up, blinking back the tears, and for some reason trying to hide from John the almost overwhelming emotions, although she knew in her heart that he loved her for those same feelings. Foreign stars twinkled overhead, forming unrecognizable patterns that reminded her she was so very far from home.

She heard John take a few steps away from her, but still she gazed heavenward, as if trying to somehow find in those unfamiliar constellations answers to questions that were unspeakable.

Was it the smallest sound? Or a vague premonition? Or had she actually somehow expected it? Whatever it was, it made her move faster than she ever had in her life, and before she even realized it she had her hands around the soft, warm, pulsating throat of another human being.

She knew that human being wasn't John, because she dimly heard him gasp in surprise nearby. And it was odd, because it seemed her hearing had become selective. The next thing she heard was John unsheathing a blade, but nothing else. She strained to listen or to even see – along with her discriminatory hearing, her peripheral vision had all but disappeared. She felt her heart pounding and pinpricks of sweat under her arms and down her back. For all intents and purposes time appeared to have slowed to a snail's pace.

It seemed as if she had been standing there forever, waiting for something – she wasn't sure what – to happen when she heard her captive say in a choked yet oddly familiar voice that made her skin crawl: "Wait! Don't hurt me! I'm alone and unarmed and I have something I need to tell you!"


	10. Chapter 10

**SCARS**

**TEN**

Ianto rolled over, hung his head off the edge of the bed and soundlessly swore at the floor.

Damn it, he'd done it again. What in the hell had he been thinking? What the hell was he doing?

After a few moments he caught himself grinding his teeth and tried hard to impose some calm on his racing thoughts. He took a deep breath. _What am I going to do?_

He felt like banging his head against the wall. How could something that felt so good be so very, very bad?

Well, it was pretty obvious. He was screwing someone else's wife. Rhys Williams – a someone else who he knew and liked and had worked closely with. A someone else who he'd smiled with, who he'd laughed with, and who he'd fought side-by-side with. A someone else who he'd risked his life with. A someone else who he respected, admired and appreciated.

A someone else who he was more than a little afraid of… and with good reason. Rhys Williams seemed genial, even gentle, but there was little doubt he was also one extremely formidable fellow.

Trying not to disturb the woman sleeping next to him, Ianto carefully repositioned his arm so he could look at his watch – he'd not removed it before they… well…

He closed his eyes, remembering. This time he'd initiated it. Events had definitely not proceeded in the direction he'd planned, that's for sure: he'd taken her in his arms, he'd kissed her, adroitly removed her clothes. He'd carried her into his room, placed her onto his bed. There was no denying it, no shirking responsibility this time. When she told him that she needed him he could've said something… could have shaken his head, said she was wrong. Said that he couldn't give her what she needed. Told her that she needed her husband. Or she needed her therapist. Or she needed her minister. Or her best friend. Someone – anyone! – other than him. He could've said _no_. But the truth of the matter was that he liked being needed. He wanted to be needed. Wanted it so badly…

The truth of the matter was that it was going to get harder and harder for him to say _no_.

He opened his eyes and breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was a little after 10:00 p.m. – not all that late, thank God. They had made love for several hours but at least he'd not fallen asleep. All was not lost. He knew there was still time to wake her up, get her home before Rhys became suspicious.

And he knew they were going to have to talk about this. It was already starting to feel like the situation was spiralling out of control; was not going to end well, no matter what might happen next. There was this inevitable sense of doom permeating his thoughts. Maybe after yesterday they could've regrouped, regained the moral high ground. But now? But now her body, her scent, her taste were becoming familiar, longed for.

He sensed movement off to his side.

"Ianto?" her voice was soft, quiet.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

He raised his head, rolled back, looked at her. "I don't think so."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, Gwen…"

She reached out, touched his face, "Shush, don't worry."

He couldn't help it; he reached for her hand, kissed it. "How can I not worry?"

"Stop thinking," she moved closer to him, her face just inches away from his.

Ianto shook his head, "I can't."

"Yes you can," she kissed him once, then again more deeply.

"No," he pulled back. "Please, Gwen."

"I love you," she whispered.

He shook his head, "Oh Gwen, no you don't."

She stiffened, her eyes flashed, "Why do you say that?"

"You don't love me, you can't love me. Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Why would loving you be ridiculous? Don't you think you deserve to be loved?"

"Gwen…" he voice caught.

"No, what is it, Ianto? You're the kindest, warmest, most generous person I've ever met. You're loyal, devoted, unbelievably caring. I've just spent half the night in your bed with you inside of me. Tell me… what's wrong with me saying I love you?"

"Stop it, just stop it." He sounded heartbroken.

Something clicked for her, purely intuitive. "Ianto… surely? Surely Jack?"

"Please…"

"Surely Jack told you he loved you?"

The young Welshman closed his eyes…

"Ianto?"

…And then almost imperceptibly shook his head.

"Oh God," Gwen whispered as she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her forehead to his. "Jack can be such an ass sometimes."

Ianto couldn't help but chuckle, "Yeah, there's no denying that."

"Ianto, look at me. Look at me!"

He opened his eyes, met hers.

"I know Jack loved you, Ianto. I mean, he never said it to me, but I could see it. Everyone could. _Anyone_ could. It was in his eyes and his smile and in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching. The way he'd touch you when he thought no one else was watching. It was so obvious. Jack loved you. He still does."

Ianto nodded, "Yeah, I know. It's just that for some reason he couldn't ever say it, and there were times when I really wanted him to, needed him to. But even then, you know, Jack loves everyone. Ours was never a monogamous relationship as far as he was concerned. Jack doesn't do monogamy." He attempted to blink away the tears stinging his eyes, "And I don't think Jack was ever _in love_ with me, not like the way I was in love with him.

"And you know, don't you," the young Welshman tried his best to smile, "he lusted after you."

"Yeah, I know. We came close a couple of times. But, I'm kind of glad…"

"Glad?"

"Yes, glad." She placed her hand over his heart. "You were very brave, you know. He needed you and you… well, I know you gave him so much – you gave him everything of yourself and you helped him tremendously. You did that even though you knew, as you said, that Jack doesn't do monogamy. You unconditionally gave him your body and your soul. And I know after all that he broke your heart." She shook her head, "I don't think I could've done what you did."

She leaned in close, kissed him. This time he kissed her back.

"I promise," she murmured. "I won't hurt you like that."

She kissed him again.

"Gwen, you should go. It's getting late."

"I know," she said as she slowly moved her head lower down his body, kissing his neck and his chest and then his abdomen. "But we still have a little time left and I want to show you exactly how I feel about you."

He leaned back into the pillows and closed his eyes.

_-00-_

"_One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it."_  
Anonymous


	11. Chapter 11

**SCARS**

**ELEVEN**

"It is a good thing the TARDIS wasn't that far away," The Doctor was gasping for breath as he closed and locked the doors.

Then he turned around and that same breath caught in his throat.

It took him a few seconds to properly digest what he was seeing; it was _that_ improbable. Norman-the-hologram was standing by his ship's console. Jack had evidently and valiantly moved himself in between their unwelcome visitor and Spike as the latter sat curiously watching the scene unfold before him from his usual spot underneath the coat tree.

"Time And Relative Dimensions In Space," proclaimed Norman to no one in particular. "Indeterminable age. Indeterminable size. Threat level a never-before-encountered negative value. Wait please."

Jack and The Doctor looked at each other from across the control room and shrugged in unison.

"Time And Relative Dimensions In Space," Norman again repeated after a short time, "a protector." His image shimmered, faded out and in, and then turned to face The Doctor, "Time Lord of Gallifrey. Revised threat level also sub-zero. Also a protector." And then the hologram shimmered once more as it turned to address Jack. "Time Lord's companion. Wait please."

Jack looked like he was about to vehemently object, if not explode. The Doctor raised a cautionary index finger to his lips.

At that moment Spike stood up, stretched, and began slowly padding toward the source of all food – the Time Lord. Jack locked worried eyes with The Doctor.

"Quadruped mammal. Insentient. Harmless unless provoked," Norman announced and Jack mimed a sigh of relief as The Doctor smiled wanly.

"Reevaluation complete," Norman declared a few seconds later. "Tactics and strategies have been revised accordingly. How may I assist you?"

Jack rolled his eyes in relief while The Doctor walked to the top of the ramp and picked up Spike. The cat, however, had other ideas, and after imparting an annoyed-sounding vocal utterance jumped back down onto the floor and walked over to the Captain, who then scooped him up into his arms and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

"In what ways are you capable of assisting us?" The Doctor asked, quite reasonably he thought.

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

"Worth trying," Jack muttered.

Having recently heard the word, The Doctor thought he might try a different _tactic_ himself. He plunged his hands into his coat and shuffled his feet back and forth. "Where did all the people go?" he asked.

"I am not programmed…"

"Of course, but aren't you lonely?"

"Lonely? I do not…"

"Yes, lonely! Where are the amazing people who built all this? Where are the amazing people who created you? Are you here, all by yourself, protecting – as you claim – everything? Where _is_ everybody, Norman? What happened to them?"

For a second or two Norman looked perplexed. "They… are… gone," he responded haltingly.

"Gone? Where?"

"They have departed. Left me to protect what they… abandoned."

"They left, Norman? Of their own free will they just picked up and left all of this, leaving you alone?"

"They have departed," Norman repeated.

"Where did they go?"

"I am not… that information is not available."

"What do you mean not available? Are you saying you cannot respond? Or you will not respond? I am a Time Lord of Gallifrey, Norman. A protector just like you. Tell me where your creators went."

"I… do not know. They departed. They left me to preserve, to protect, and to watch."

"Okay, Norman. And I can tell that you are doing a splendid job preserving and protecting! Very good work, Norman. Excellent. Your creators would be proud, if they were around to see it. Now, can you tell me their name? What was the name of your creators? What where they called, Norman?"

"They were called by many names, and by no name."

Jack, who'd been keeping very quiet, groaned inwardly. He'd heard _that_ before…

The Doctor nodded pensively. "Do you mind if I go to talk to my, um, companion, Norman? Just for a minute or so. We may be in need your help, but we must discuss the situation first. Would that be okay? Can I speak with Jack, please? I am going to go over there and talk briefly with Jack, Norman."

"I am the protector, here to offer assistance," Norman replied.

"Right. Thank you. Thank you very much." The Time Lord walked over to his friend the Captain while keeping a constant wary eye on the hologram. "Jack, I'd like to know more about these beings, but it may take awhile," he said in a half-whisper. "Are you interested? I'm quite sure we could leave now if we wanted to, although if it were up to me I'd rather stay. But we're a team and this is a joint effort and a democracy. You get a say, too."

"I'm interested as well, Doctor. I find it hard to believe an entire civilization built and then abandoned this amazing place. Still, I'm here to tell you that I don't like what Norman said just now about the name business." Jack shivered involuntarily, "It reminds me too much…"

"I know, Jack," The Doctor frowned, interrupting him. "It reminds you too much of the Terraformers. But I don't think that this is them, or anything like them." He shook his head. "No, I believe this is something else entirely. Something very intriguing, to be sure, and more than a little strange. But my sense is that what is happening here is not a danger to us. Not at this moment, at least."

"Okay, so what's next?"

"What's next?" The Doctor repeated.

Jack smiled to himself. _As if he doesn't already know exactly what he wants to do next. _"Yeah, what's next, Doctor?"

"Well, let us presume that good old Norman-the-holographic-protector is telling us the truth. Now that he knows we're not a threat I believe there's no reason he should lie to us, even if he was programmed in that area. No, I think he really doesn't have any idea what happened to the Dyson sphere builders, or where they might be. But I'm willing to bet if we start poking around out there in the habitat areas we might be able to solve this mystery on our own." The Doctor smiled the particularly wicked grin that Jack loved so much. "What do you think?"

"I think it sounds like a plan, Doctor."

The Time Lord looked over at the hologram. "Norman, did your creators leave behind any, oh, I don't know, libraries or archives or repositories for you to protect? You know, maybe halls of knowledge or perhaps information centers?"

"There are numerous data depositories."

"Ah! Data depositories!" The Lord of Time winked at Jack Harkness and then shrugged, "Well, I was close."

Clearing his throat conspicuously, The Doctor continued, "My companion and I would like to visit one, maybe several, of these data depositories. Would you assist us?"

"The Time Lord…"

"Please, Norman, call me The Doctor. That's my name."

"The Doctor may visit the depositories. His companion, the one called Captain Jack Harkness, may not."

"Hey!" Jack argued. "He and I – we go everywhere together!"

"The Doctor may visit the depositories. His companion, Captain Jack Harkness, may not."

The Doctor held up a conciliatory hand. "Why, Norman? Why can't Jack visit the depositories?"

"The companion, Captain Jack Harkness, must remain here with Time And Relative Dimensions In Space."

"But _why_, Norman?"

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

The Doctor closed his eyes and allowed his head to loll backward while he shook it back and forth. Then he rubbed his face with his hands and looked at Jack helplessly. "I guess you're supposed to stay here, Captain."

"I don't like it, Doctor."

"I expected you wouldn't. Still, I don't think there's much we can do about it. Although my previous offer still stands, Jack. We can, of course, leave."

"I know that look of yours, Doctor; that look on your face and the glint in your eyes. You have your hearts set on this, don't you? I'm the last person in the universe to tell you _no_ when you're on a mission. Although, gods help me…" Jack chuckled warmly, "maybe I _should_ tell you no. Could be it would save us a whole lot of grief later."

"Oh, Jack. Don't be such a worrywart. Everything is going to be fine."

"Famous last words," Jack muttered, meaning it more than he could possibly say.


	12. Chapter 12

**SCARS**

**TWELVE**

Wil saw red – literally – when she realized whose neck she had her hands wrapped around.

A heavy blood-red curtain fell over her vision, her heart, and her soul. She squeezed her fingers and Jack's little brother writhed and screamed in agony, or rather screamed as much as anyone could scream who was in the process of having their throat crushed.

"Wil!" John yelled. "Hold off!"

Her sight cleared just enough to allow her to see ghostly images of all those who'd had their lives cut short as a result of the psychopathic monster she now held within her unyielding grasp. She squeezed again. This time the scream was more of a wheeze. Death was not far away at all. No, it was very close indeed…

"WIL!"

She loosened her grip, if only slightly. But the pressure was slackened enough so Gray wouldn't expire – at least not immediately – she was sure of that. And her grip was now loose enough so that he could speak, which he commenced doing as rapidly as he could, in between ragged gasps for breath.

"You have to listen to me! Jack is in danger!"

"Jack is always in danger," John snorted derisively.

"You're not listening! Something terrible – something incredibly horrible – is after him!"

"Something is _always_ after him…"

"No! Please! You're not paying attention to me!"

"And why should I?" John sneered. "After everything you've done. Everything you've tried to do. You're a menace and a fucking abhorrence and deserve nothing better than to be put down like an insane animal, which is what you are and which is what I'm gonna do, right now."

"No, I beg you! I came to help you!"

"Beg me? BEG ME?! Since when has anyone's desperate plea mattered to you? I remember times when I begged you, implored you, to release me… to release me or kill me. You did neither."

"I'm sorry, John."

"Bah!" John spat on the ground.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, you rat bastard. Right here, right now." John Hart's voice was like liquid helium, the blade in his hand, the same razor-sharp blade his friend Jaad had used to slit his own throat, shined harshly in the starlight.

Gray gasped and involuntarily squirmed inside the choking, vise-like grip of Wil Beinert, her long, powerful fingers easily encircling his neck. Her eyes were wide open now, although everything was still tinted blood-red; she could see the back of Gray's head and John standing not far beyond.

"Because…" Jack's little brother croaked, but just barely, "you must listen to me! There is something coming for Jack."

"And you're telling me this why?" John snarled.

"Like I already told you!" Gray's eyes were watering, starting to go unfocused, the pale irises floating upward, their whites becoming more and more prominent in the dim light. "You've seen the Darkness; I've shown it to you, shown you the Darkness. But there are far worse things out there than the Darkness." His chest heaved. "There are relentless, inescapable, mind-blasting horrors. Someone must warn, must save my brother before it's too late. I know he'd sooner kill me than hear me out. You… both of you are my only hope. You're Jack's only hope."

John caught Wil's attention and the two lovers exchanged a long look, a silent yet not insignificant interchange. The relentless pressure around Gray's neck eased moderately. Gray gulped air harshly as he tried to fill his heaving lungs.

John Hart began pacing back and forth. "You're not very convincing. We know you're a habitual liar. Why should we believe you?"

With tremendous effort Jack's little brother stilled himself and blinked, "A question of honor."

John halted in mid-step, slowly sheathed his knife, pivoted and peered into Gray's face. Those four words had specific meaning. They had a significance, a history, and deep, deep meaning, "What exactly are you saying?"

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

John scoffed, "Wait, you're telling me you've turned?"

"I have been adrift in brilliant dreams of madness," Gray's voice had gone quiet; his panting breaths almost as loud as his words. "When Jack released me I went back to them, back to those who had come to be my life, my existence, my purpose. Back to the world-eating beings who patrol the threatening emptiness which stretches as far as the imagination can conceive. But everything had become unglued. I spoke to them as I always spoke to them, using sharp, pointy words and unseeable diagrams with the wrong sorts of angles. But for the longest time there was only silence in return. The emptiness… the emptiness took its time answering, and when it finally did answer the loudness of the response drove me stark raving sane."

Gray laughed; it was not hysterical but rather a sad, forlorn sound. "When it finally did come, the response was about Jack. Only and entirely and absolutely about Jack. It turns out that everything has always been about him, the Captain, my brother. I believe Jack knows this undeniable truth already and I think you do, too. I am positive that the Time Lord knows. Everyone knows, yet no one acknowledges. No one speaks. Why did those creatures come to our home world? Why did they take me? Why did they preserve me? Allow me to become their sycophant? Why did they…?" He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to not look at something dreadful like a car accident in the other lane or a corpse floating on a pond, "Everything has always been about Jack..."

John turned away and resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back to keep them from shaking. It sounded almost as if he was talking to himself, his words were so softly spoken, "So you're informing us is that these creatures are out to get Jack?"

"Get Jack?" again the lonely laugh. "They are out to eradicate him from all of time and space."

John halted, once again met Wil's eyes. "Let him go," he said to her.

She blinked, not comprehending. Her brain still in some sort of weird, primal mode; her murderous rage still running fresh and clear and icy cold.

"It's okay. Let him go," John said again.

"John?" She barely recognized the sound of her own voice. It was as if she was hearing it from the end of a long tunnel, from a great distance, from miles and miles away.

He nodded at her, "Wil, let Gray go."

She wasn't sure what made her do it. Something in John's eyes. Or his posture or the tilt of his head. Or perhaps the slightest whisper of a smile on his face. She loved him, she trusted him, and she'd do what he asked despite an almost overwhelming desire to do otherwise.

She let go her fingers, dropped her arms to her sides and took one, then two steps back. She set Gray free.


	13. Chapter 13

**SCARS**

**THIRTEEN**

"Be careful," the Captain half-whispered into the air as the doors closed shut. He turned the lock and slowly walked back up to the console.

The TARDIS – their ship – was suddenly quiet. As always, the eerie stillness of the lonely control room shocked Jack. The Time Lord was a force of nature unto himself, a tornado of movement and sound. No matter how large, any space the Gallifreyan occupied was always filled to the rafters by the whirlwind of his presence.

And when The Doctor left, the silence of his absence was deafening.

The Captain sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and looked around. He didn't often find himself alone in the TARDIS. Jack shrugged inwardly as he deliberated; he could go investigating… there was so much of the ship – well, nearly infinite amounts to be honest – that he hadn't seen yet. He could probably spent years if not centuries poking around, never getting bored, never growing tired of discovering the fixtures and trappings of the man who was his best friend and, let's admit it, the love of his life. And there was so much about The Doctor he didn't know, so many doors he'd never opened.

But it was funny, he'd already had a number of opportunities to explore the ship on his own – however when it came right down to it he never carried through with the intent. Funny and odd: was there some subliminal whisper of opposition to the idea coming from The Doctor… or from _her_? Did one or the other of those inscrutable beings not want him to go rummaging around? Not want him to open doors that were best left shut? To uncover secrets that might best remain unknown? They rarely in the end didn't get what they wanted, those two. And really, when it came right down to it, weren't the Time Lord and his ship one and the same?

Still, who wouldn't want to spend a lifetime surveying the nooks and crannies – the mysteries and surprises, of the TARDIS? Who wouldn't want to open all those doors, one at a time, and take a peek at what lay behind them?

On the other hand, maybe he'd find Spike; settle down in the library with a hot cup of tea, a napping lap cat and a good book while he waited for The Doctor to get back from his fact-finding mission…

And damn it, why hadn't he been invited along? Jack shook his head and felt his shoulders slump just a bit. He'd been a little dishonest in his earlier reaction: he really,_ truly_ did not like it one single bit that he'd been excluded from The Doctor's undertaking. Nope, not at all… He couldn't help but feel he'd given in too easily. Jack narrowed his eyes; something smelled fishy, figuratively speaking. _What in the hell is going on here?_

That's when he heard the tapping on the door.

The Captain smiled, quickly turned and walked back down the ramp, "Doctor, did you forget your key again?"

Jack swung open the doors and swallowed hard.

Her one perfect nostril flared minutely. Her skin had a faint, silvery incandescent sheen to it, like the scales of a fish. Her hair was long and green as glass, framing a face with higher cheekbones and a wider mouth, rising from an inhumanly perfect long neck, the skin broken by two rows of slits above her clavicle. Her breasts were smaller, not much larger than her nipples, and two tinier ones adorned her ribcage beneath them. She raised her right hand and spread her fingers, revealing the delicate tracery of webbing.

"Hello," she said.

Jack swallowed again. There was a faint, impossible yet very distinct aroma of roses and oysters.

She was like a sculpture in quicksilver. Devastatingly, heartbreakingly beautiful…

And she had totally made him forget his usual pickup line.

"Erm… Hello?"

"Hello. I am Ramone."

"Huh? Oh, right! Where are my manners? I'm, um, Jack. Uh, Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness."

"Hello, Jack."

"Hello, Ramone."

There was a long, rather uncomfortable silence.

"May I enter, Jack?"

He could not look away from her. He tried to pull his eyes away from those exquisite breasts and kept looking down only to find another pair.

Shaking himself mentally, the Captain dragged himself back into the here and now, and away from those most perfect breasts.

"Are you real, Ramone?"

"I am as real to you as you are to me."

Jack rolled his eyes, "Enigmatic…"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is there no one in this universe, or any other, who is plain speaking?

She smiled with flawless, white teeth. "I'm afraid I can't answer that."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Her inhumanly perfect long neck tilted slightly. A shrug maybe?

He tried to smile, found it was a little easier than he expected. Although he was still, well… quite disturbed – as if he'd glanced down and realized that, like Wile E. Coyote, he'd just run over the edge of a cliff and was standing on thin air.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"May I enter, Jack?" she repeated.

Decision time. After all, it was the TARDIS and The Doctor didn't invite people in carelessly. Not that they got all that many visitors, mind you. But did he have any choice, really? "Yes! Where _are_ those manners of mine?" He giggled uncharacteristically. "Of course!" Jack cordially stepped aside and she glided in on webbed feet.

"I suppose," she said after making herself comfortable on the captain's chair, "you want to know why I'm here."

"I want, well… that, among several other things," the smile came easier that time.


	14. Chapter 14

**SCARS**

**FOURTEEN**

The Doctor looked up from the fifteenth or twentieth scroll, puffed out his cheeks and pulled off his glasses.

"So, Norman, I think I've got it figured out… it's the old _we're tired of this reality let's find a better one_ storyline, eh? Yet another highly advanced civilization gets bored out of its gourd and heads off somewhere else – somewhere very different indeed – in search of something better. Is that it? They turned off the lights, locked the door after them, leaving you behind as the guard dog, and left for a better place?"

Norman nodded, "Yes, Doctor."

The Time Lord thoughtfully returned the nod.

Since they'd entered the depository, and just as The Doctor had theorized if not assumed, Norman had gradually become more sentient, more cognizant, and much more intelligent; towit: more useful as a conversationalist. Even Norman's appearance had changed; he looked less stiff, more organic, more interested and more engaged. The information spillway, once opened a crack, was now beginning to gush forth profusely. As already mentioned, this was not a surprise to one who'd lived through as much as the man from Gallifrey; he'd seen this kind of thing happen before (and more than once!). On a good day knowledge begot knowledge, and openness and sharing thrived and prevailed. On a bad day… well… he preferred not to think about bad days.

The protector, which as The Doctor had also suspected, was far more substantial than one puny, solitary, limited hologram, had evaluated the situation, determined the threat level was minimal, and unsealed the floodgates.

It almost made the Time Lord want to smugly congratulate himself, but he'd been around the universe more than once and there were a couple of things still nagging at the back of his mind, not the least of which was why Jack had been kept out of the classroom… He found himself missing the Captain's presence, maybe even more than he ought to.

"They've been gone a long time then?"

"A very long time, Doctor."

"Yes… I suppose so. Tell me, Norman, what were they like?"

"Like, Doctor?"

"Yes, describe them to me as best you can. I mean I've read what they had to say about themselves here in these dusty old tomes, but you actually met them, didn't you? I know you did because they wrote about you. Right here in this one." He rummaged through the scrolls, flinging them every which way, then picked up one of the pieces of thick, curled paper and waved it gently through the air after giving it a cursory glance. "They wrote about creating you and giving you your _assignment_, I'd guess you'd call it. Your _commission_. They had a very specific purpose in mind for you when they built you. So… tell me about them…" The Doctor sat back in his chair and spread out his legs, looking for all the world like someone who was getting ready for a nice long chat.

"Yes, Doctor. They were an ambitious, powerful, brilliant people. They set lofty goals and worked very hard to achieve them. The joy for them was in the designing, the creating, the building. Solving was what intrigued them, not the solution itself. Like many great civilizations they came from humble beginnings, scattered across the four inner planets of this solar system. Over the eons the races of these four worlds came together, learned to live with each other and progressed. Their advancements were spectacular – for proof you need look no farther than this planetary system and the construct which we now stand upon. When they could advance no further in this realm, they gathered together and departed."

"The grass is always greener, hmm?"

"Pardon?"

"Never mind, Norman. But did they not expand out beyond this solar system? Did they not travel the galaxy? The galaxies? Did they not set their sights on the stars and beyond? On the great mysteries and wonders of the universe? Did they not take time to look around their own cosmic neighborhood first before they, um, as you say, _departed_? Departed for a different cosmos?"

"They were curious. Indeed. They watched. But they never interfered. Interference was anathema to them. Early in the joining together of the four great races there'd been… miscalculations. Misunderstandings. Nothing that could not be repaired, but the lesson had been learned. They would not meddle in the affairs of others."

"Ah, I see. Very wise," The Doctor smiled but then his face changed subtly. "But they watched? You mean they studied? Studied other races? Other civilizations?"

"From a distance, and very carefully. There are other scrolls – rooms and rooms of scrolls detailing their ethnographic research and analyses. Information about innumerable civilizations is contained in those scrolls. Studies of millions of races, including your own people, Doctor."

The Doctor jerked his legs in, sat up straight and nearly knocked his chair over in the process. "M-My own people?"

"Yes, Doctor. The Time Lords of Gallifrey. You are a brilliant and powerful race in your own right."

"You mean _were_," his voice had changed to a low whisper.

"Were?" Norman appeared to blink several times.

The Doctor's expression went hard, "Were, Norman. Not are. The Time Lords were destroyed. My people are no more."

"Wait please." Norman's image shimmered, went faint.

Taking his hands from the tabletop, The Doctor placed them in his lap and tried to get them to stop shaking. In general there was a reason why he preferred to not talk about what happened to Gallifrey; it was upsetting to him. Who could blame him for that? Beyond the upset, any such discussion served no useful purpose and as he'd told Jack on more than one occasion, he really, really preferred looking forward. There was nothing left for him in the opposite direction. Nothing other than sadness, loneliness and despair.

At length Norman's image re-rendered to a more normal, substantial, appearance. "I have no information about the eradication of the Time Lords. This is a serious loss."

The Doctor smiled ruefully, "You're telling me?"

"What happened, please?"

The Lord of Time briefly closed his eyes as if he was in pain. "There was a war, a terrible war, a Time War, the last great Time War. That war sent ripples of consequences up and down history. My people were engulfed in flames. The Time Lords were annihilated. Gallifrey was destroyed. Many other races – innocent races – were damaged, or worse… Our enemies? Not so much, it turns out."

"Consequences?"

"Yes, Norman," The Doctor sighed sadly. "History is no longer immutable or, I should say, it is no longer changeable by only the extremely powerful, as it was when the Time Lords existed. The Time War has left history vulnerable to change. The Time Lords are no longer around to repair damage to the timescape and to prevent paradoxes from occurring. The universe, Norman, has become a much more unstable and dangerous place." He bitterly shook his head, "The neighborhood has gone downhill since your creators left you alone in the house, Norman."

"And you survived?"

"I am the last of my kind, Norman. Rather like you I suspect."


	15. Chapter 15

**SCARS **

**FIFTEEN**

To Wil's considerable surprise Gray didn't move a muscle.

And it was only after she released him that Wil noticed she was trembling, although not out of fear.

She took a few more steps toward John. The three of them now stood approximately at the opposite points of an equilateral triangle.

For the longest time, nothing was said.

The planet on which they stood that once was so alive was now dead. Its atmosphere whorled and marbled by the diaphanous sheets of gas blasted off the system's dying star. Its contaminated sky darkened to the color of coagulated blood on a slaughterhouse floor, the ground indelibly stained by a patina of ancient, overwhelming evil. Above her a dull red moon still shined, and dim stars still flickered, perhaps in innocence, perhaps not, untold light years away. There was a lot of history here on Orolo, but no future.

When she caught Gray glancing furtively in her direction Wil was shocked to realize that she could kill him with a look. Nothing more, just a look, a single look, and the thought of such power scared the shit out of her.

She turned to John, tried to catch his eye, but he was staring fixedly at Gray. As she watched she saw her lover clench his jaw and then slowly, so slowly unsheathe his blade. The sharp sound of metal slipping across leather seemed to echo around them, ringing loudly in the rarified, poisoned atmosphere. Gray flinched.

Wil balled her hands into tight, hard fists.

John snarled, "Talk."

Gray's voice was soft, youthful-sounding. _Is this the real Gray? The lost boy who is Jack's brother?_ Wil wondered. _Or am I somehow bewitched?_

She temporarily shifted her attention back to John, a reality check. His expression hadn't changed: full of hatred, disgust, mistrust, rage. It was clear he wanted Gray dead, and yet he'd stilled his own hand as well as hers. She was so confused. _Why had he done that?_ Wil looked down at the ground, aware suddenly that her senses of compassion, of empathy, of mercy were slipping away.

_Teacher?_

_Yes, Grasshopper?_

_Are you all right?_

_No._

_Teacher?_

_Grasshopper?_

_It is your humanity which distinguishes you from the evil that you face. You must not lose it._

_I know._

_Teacher?_

_Yes, Grasshopper?_

_Listen…_

_Listen?_

_Listen to what is being said._

Gray's eyes were feverishly bright as he appeared to focus on things that weren't visible. "They are the oldest civilization in the known universe; if you can call them a civilization, for they are the most uncivilized beings imaginable. They are older – far older – than the Time Lords; they are unfathomably ancient. Long ago they learned to cross the infinite dimensions, to span the light-years, to traverse subspace, and to travel at will between the galaxies. They learned this, as they learn many things, maybe all things, by absorbing the knowledge of the races they shatter and destroy. And those wrecked races are myriad across time and space because, you see, the Aedui are war-mad. They live to annihilate and devastate. They require carnage like you require air, and they are relentless in the pursuit of their bloodlust."

John frowned. "These things we already know. I've experienced them first hand, as you are all too well aware, you bloody prick."

Gray blinked at the insult, muttered something soundlessly but then shook himself off and continued.

"They do not see Time like us. In this they are a little like the Time Lords. They know Time is only a kind of Space. They warp Time, abuse it, misuse it. And their powers to do so, to contort Time, have increased a hundredfold, if not more, since the demise of Gallifrey. Yet they cannot totally ignore Time either, because it exists for other sentient beings, it exists for those they torture – it exists for their prey…"

John scoffed, was about to say something else rude and abusive, but Gray interrupted him.

"No wait, hear me out. They are powerful but they are also stupid in their single-minded preoccupation with slaughter and destruction. Obsessed with their religion of death, with feeding their sadistic appetites, there came a point when quite uncharacteristically they paused and looked around, and as they did, as they took notice, they _learned_ something. They came to know, and thus have always known, that in some way, shape or form the immortal Captain Jack Harkness of Boeshane is a mortal threat to them. This lethal danger Jack presents has something to do with his relationship with the Time Lord – I haven't worked it all out, but I'm not sure the details really matter because the end result is almost painfully simple and straightforward: they cannot allow Jack to live; they know that if he does, he will destroy them."

Gray paused in his narrative for a moment. Not getting the desired reaction from his audience, he became more animated. "Don't you see? They thought I was him. What did I tell you? They're that stupid. Of course they can be wicked, crazy brilliant too, but they can and do make mistakes. A case in point, John, is when they sent the Halikaarn to kill you instead of just snuffing you out like a candle when they had the chance. They allowed their sadistic impulses to get the better of them. They are totally unable to resist being vicious and brutal when the opportunity presents itself. Why kill something outright if you can torture it? Mutilate it? Torment it?"

John growled menacingly. Gray quickly moved on with his tale.

"Yes, they are capable of incredible mistakes. All small human children look alike to them. They thought I was Jack and so they took me and by the time they realized their error, it was too late. Someone – maybe The Time Lord – had already intervened on my brother's behalf. Too late for them. And too late for _me_…" Gray made an odd, muffled, strangled sound. With a jolt Wil realized he was crying.

Jack's brother blinked, swallowed hard. "The destruction of Boeshane was the turning point – something incredibly powerful began protecting Jack from that time onward. It was like he had a guardian angel. I believe that angel was The Doctor… or one of The Doctors, only the gods know which one, and when or how. Or maybe I'm wrong. But along with everything else the Aedui are fantastically patient, and so they took the long view. They decided to use me to get to Jack and kill him before he got the chance to destroy them. I became their ace in the hole.

"And they have made good use of me. I've come so close to killing him, more times than either of you could ever know. But somehow Captain Jack Harkness always escapes and that damn Doctor has _always_ been in the background, pulling the strings, making sure that Jack… well…" Gray lifted a hand, wiped the tears from his eyes and then rubbed his nose on his sleeve. "What more can I say? He's the brother who always lives."


	16. Chapter 16

**SCARS**

**SIXTEEN**

"But please, Ramone," Jack said softly as he sat down beside her. "Please continue. Tell me why you've come."

"I am a member of one of the four great races who built what you see encompassing this system's star. My people were called the Deep Ones before we joined together with our brothers and sisters of this solar system into one single, unified civilization. Our world was a giant water planet and we lived in its seas, built tremendous cities below the ocean's surface, and flourished for many ages.

"The planet of the Deep Ones was the third to join the home collective. The third to contribute its mass and matériel to the amazing structures you have found here, orbiting our star. The third to contribute its knowledge and culture to a new, flourishing civilization. This happened many, many thousands of generations ago.

"The fourth race was highly unstable, prone to subsistence-level crises and self-destructive wars. As we were to learn, this apparent weakness was also their greatest strength – when reduced to a rump of a few thousand illiterate hunter-gatherers, they could spread out and tame their war-torn planet in mere centuries, and build high civilizations in a handful of millennia. They were," she peered at him closely, coldly, "much like your own people."

For a moment Jack felt like a bug on a microscope slide, pinned down by brilliant searchlights for scrutiny by a vast, unsympathetic intellect: trapped with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Captain shook off the sensation; he couldn't really blame her – she was probably just as curious about him as he was about her.

"The fourth race's cycle of destruction and rebirth repeated many times. We watched and waited patiently for them to advance beyond their self-hatred, always fervently hoping that they would not permanently destroy themselves. In the end they survived, and as with the other three races when they finally looked beyond the confines of their own world and joined us, the fourth race brought with them the innumerable distinct attributes and characteristics of their society.

"Many millennia passed. Many lives were lived. We amused ourselves as you might expect, pursuing our interests, meeting new challenges, reaching for and achieving lofty goals. We were born, we lived well and fully, and then we died. This was as it should be. But then we began to wonder if there was something more."

"Ah," Jack breathed. He felt like shivering.

"It is not unusual, Captain Harkness, for great civilizations to begin to look inward when they've grown tired of looking outward. The thought – the nascent glimmer of an idea – grew and matured. Our greatest minds were set to learning, to investigating. Scientists, philosophers, teachers, artists, authors, builders, thinkers. Slowly, painstakingly, and again over many generations, a plan began to take shape. The pieces of the puzzle gradually fell into place."

She looked at him, waiting.

"And then you… what?" Jack asked when he realized she wanted him to say something. "You just left?"

She smiled, nodded. "We created our surrogate…"

"Norman."

"Yes, you've named him. Norman. Although Norman is much, much more than what you've up until now been allowed to see."

Jack winked, "We sort of knew that already, Ramone."

Again she smiled, "I suspected you did, Jack. We created him to watch over things for us and then we – as you say – just left."

He inhaled deeply. As she spoke he'd been watching the delicate, graceful gill slits above her collar bone. It was almost hypnotic how they rhythmically, minutely opened and closed. He resisted an urge to touch them, to feel their pulse.

Jack shifted in his seat, "So is there?"

"Is there what?"

"Something more?"

For the briefest moment he thought she was maybe going to answer him properly. Perhaps impart to him the uncountable secrets of the universes. Her eyes flashed and she seemed to sit up straighter; he held his breath. But then she looked down along his torso and back up to his face, meeting his gaze, "That is for you to find out in your own time, Jack Harkness."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." He laughed quietly, "So you left Norman behind and collectively shuffled off your mortal coils?"

"Yes, we left Norman to watch and we left this physical realm behind. One of Norman's many responsibilities is to protect this region of space, this part of the physical realm, from intruders. Even though we expected, we believed, we would not ever need to return to this place again. Still, we wanted it preserved. Perhaps it was out of pridefulness. Or arrogance. Or pretension. Or simple sentimentality. No matter. You and your traveling companion are the first beings Norman has ever permitted to enter, to see it…"

Jack's face went rigid as he drew a sharp breath.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me," Ramone quickly interjected with a wave of her hand. "Norman does no damage to anyone. He just makes it impossible, in one way or another, to approach this system. He has many such tricks at his disposal, none of which are permanently harmful. This task he has performed admirably for eons; but we also recognized that there are many different values for the word _intruder_, all potential visitors certainly not being equal. So we programmed Norman to identify any phenomenally unique being or beings he encountered who might be of particular interest to us. Something or someone so special or so important that we would conceivably choose to temporarily venture back into this realm in order to meet them."

"Right," said Jack, things finally clicking. "You're talking about The Doctor."

Ramone looked at him quizzically, "Pardon?"

"The Time Lord who I came here with. My traveling companion, as you called him earlier, who is now off with Norman somewhere, on some sort of learning expedition."

She shook her head. "No Captain Jack Harkness, he is not whom we have come to meet."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"It is you."

"Me?!"

"Yes."

"Wait… you're telling me that I'm special? I'm just a fifty-first century human being from the Boeshane Peninsula, Ramone." Jack frowned as he shook his head, "I might have kick-ass pheromones, but I'm nothing special. Not compared to…"

"You underestimate yourself, Jack Harkness."

The Captain thought for a few seconds. "Hmm, I suppose you're referring to the resurrection business. I was not born that way, Ramone. It was a gift someone endowed on me… I didn't seek it. I didn't expect it. I'm not even entirely sure exactly what it is, other than a pain in the ass – at least sometimes. It's a quirk of fate, nothing more."

She reached out, covered his hand with her own. "No, Jack. It isn't even your immortality, although certainly that unusual ability of yours is curious, even intriguing. But it is of the physical realm and of no great or lasting interest to us. Rather, let me put it to you this way. I ask you to think about what I've just told you, what I've said about my people, about our history, about what happened here. Has any of this surprised you, Jack?"

He was perplexed, suddenly unsure where the conversation was heading, "No, not really."

"Is it possible that you comprehended all of it already, before I even spoke? That you knew what I was going to say before I said it? Search your memory, Jack. Open your mind. Look inward instead of outward."

Jack inhaled sharply, blinked. He was feeling approximately the way he imagined a tuna fish might feel with a wooden deck under one flank and the cruel sun beating mercilessly down on the other, gills gasping in a medium they'd never evolved to survive exposure to.

His entire body trembled, "I can't, Ramone."

"Why not, Jack?"

"Because I'm afraid."


	17. Chapter 17

**SCARS**

**SEVENTEEN**

"So… is that it?" John snapped angrily. He had a lot to be angry about.

"Is what it?" Gray scowled.

"Is that what you've come to tell us, _little_ brother?"

"Yes."

"And we're just supposed to believe you?"

"YES!"

"Gods, Gray. Your credibility sucks and you lie like a rug. I still think I should kill you."

"It's Jack! He needs to be warned!"

"So? I'm sure you know where he is. Right?"

Gray's face darkened, "I always know where Jack is."

"Then go warn him."

"He'll kill me!"

"Yep. I do believe he most assuredly will," John sniffed.

Gray extended his hands in surrender. "I came here unarmed, defenseless, putting myself at your mercy, wanting to help you. To help my brother. I've done what I can. Go ahead and kill me. Let me tell you… if you do, you'll be doing me a favor. It'll be a relief."

John looked at Wil. She appeared to be in a state of abject shock, her face totally unreadable. Her body language like nothing he'd ever seen before. He was actually quite worried for her. There'd been a few intense moments back there when he had been certain she was going to murder Gray with her bare hands. Not that he would've objected too much, or even minded, really. Still… the color of her eyes – normally so reflective of her feelings, her state of mind – had been disturbing, to put it mildly. The gold flashes, which he'd always associated with the more threatening, more dangerous aspects of her personality, had gone a dark red._ That_ had been a shock. Since then her eyes seemed to have returned to a more normal appearance: once again gold specks floated in a sea of milky blue-green. But she was pale as a ghost; her hands continued to be, as they had been since she released Gray from her grasp, clenched into tightly balled fists. He could tell his lover was wound up like a watch spring inside. There was little doubt that she was not going to be of any immediate help. A decision had to be made, and apparently it would have to be made by him alone, without her input.

And if he made the wrong choice was there any question that terrible things would happen? Terrible things to him and to the people he loved? He didn't trust Gray; he would never trust Gray. Better than anyone else, he knew what Gray was capable of – he had the scars, both physical _and_ mental, to prove it. Gray had left him covered with the psychic equivalent of third-degree burns. Since he'd met her, Wil had healed him from the worst of the mental trauma, the psychological damage. Her love had been like a salve, her unconditional acceptance a remedy for the numberless hurts which had wounded him so deeply. Yes, she'd healed him, but Jack… _Jack_ had saved him. Just like always, even during the worst of it, with Jack's adopted city of Cardiff in smoldering ruins, with two of his colleagues and closest friends dead, the Captain had – as always – come through for his good friend and occasional lover, John Hart.

Yes, the Captain would always come through for him. It was one of life's most exquisite constants.

And when it came to Jack, John Hart would never, could never take chances.

_Easy enough._

"So what's the plan?" John asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh… I don't know, Gray. You're the answer man. What is it that we need to do?"

"We need to warn Jack, and then it's up to him…"

John made a face, "That's not much of a plan!"

"Well I haven't thought much past talking to you. To be honest, I didn't think I'd get this far."

John nodded, "I see your point. Reasonable. Still, you have to have some ideas? You're the expert on these people. Assuming what you say is true, what should we do about them?"

"We?"

"Yeah, Gray. _We_. You're coming with us."

He inhaled sharply, "Yes, of course."

"And then you're going to help us do whatever needs to be done to help Jack…"

"Oh! Oh no. No, no, no. I don't think that's such a good idea…"

The air moved, John's knife glimmered in the dim light and a second later he was pressing it against Gray's neck. "You're going to help us do whatever needs to be done to help Jack or so help me I will kill you stone cold dead."

Gray nodded mutely.

"Now tell me," John's face was inches from Gray's, "what needs to be done."

"We need to find a way to destroy them before they destroy Jack."

John took a step back, "Oh, is that all? Well…" Like a viper he struck, the point of his blade drawing a long, thin, pinkish line down Gray's cheek. At first, astonishingly, it appeared no blood had been drawn, but that was incorrect. John was an expert with a blade – especially this blade. The blood was merely slow to come, but after a few moments come it did. And profusely, bright red angrily welling up from the soft pink.

Gray gasped, blinked, began to tremble as the blood flowed freely down his face. But then, improbably, he smiled. John recognized that smile and repressed his own shiver.

"The sharks are in the water," Jack's little brother half-whispered.

John glared, "What?"

"In one possible future, at one point in Time, Jack somehow manages to eradicate them. Who's to say that Time isn't now?" Gray licked his lips, catching a drop of blood on his tongue. "My undying brother and his heroic minions versus the creatures from beyond Abaddon? It's anyone's guess who'll win but I'd wager it's going to be a hell of a fight."

"You're crazy."

"I know."

John slowly, meticulously, wiped the blade off on his jacket and then inspected the weapon carefully before sheathing it. "It's a good knife," he murmured to no one in particular as he took the time to once again remind himself how it had come into his possession, "and it's important to clean your blade after using it, and if possible sharpen and lubricate it." Then he looked at his lover. His decision had been made, and for all he knew he was crazy, too.

"Wil? We need to go to Jack."

She started, woke up as if from a trance, her irises suddenly brilliant turquoise and electric green, floating flecks of gold flashing. Her eyes looked deeper than an arctic lake and much, much colder, "No."

"Huh?"

"No, John. It's not _we_ who need to go to Jack – it's _you_ who needs to go to Jack. You and _him_," she glanced sidelong at Gray for a moment, shook her head. "I can't go with you."

"What? Why? This is your battle as much as anybody's, Wil. What about Crade, Jaad, the children? Don't you want in on the fight? Don't you want to help Jack?"

"I'm afraid all I want is to kill _him_." She was shaking again, couldn't even say Gray's name out loud, a name that no one in their right mind should speak aloud. "And I will. I will kill him. I can barely control myself now, and it's getting harder by the second, John. Harder and harder."

He went to her, wrapped his arms around her, buried his face into her hair and held her tightly.

"You need to get him away from me," she whispered into his ear.

John nodded. "I understand," he murmured, although he really didn't – at least not very well. "I love you more than anything, always."

He leaned back slightly on the balls of his feet, turned his head. Gray was standing a short distance away, watching them hungrily, like a snake staring into the eyes of something small, furry and edible. The two men's gazes met, held. "Let's go," John rumbled. "Let's go talk to Jack. But first I have an errand to run. It'll be quick, I promise. We'll take your ride."


	18. Chapter 18

**SCARS**

**EIGHTEEN**

"Why are you afraid, Jack?"

The Captain's blue eyes went steely cobalt. "Because whatever it is that is going on in my head, I don't want it. I don't want anything to do with it. I'm getting sick of superpowers being installed inside of me, being thrust upon me, without my permission. I'm just a kid from the Boeshane Peninsula. I'm a former Time Agent, a half-assed con artist and a two-bit crook. I'm a guy who after a lifetime of searching has found himself a couple of good friends who he loves and who he fiercely hopes love him in return. I just want to be allowed to live my life. I don't want to be special! I never asked for it. I don't want to be important. I simply want to travel around with The Doctor. Meet interesting new people. See interesting new things. Think interesting new thoughts."

"But Jack…"

"But nothing, Ramone! Whatever it means, whatever it is, I don't want it. You understand? I don't want to be lifted to the next level of being or to venture into a higher realm or to shuffle off my mortal coil in favor of greener pastures. I don't want to do whatever you and your people did. Get it? I don't want to leave what I've finally found here. I want to be left alone to have fun, to make the occasional mistake, to fall in and out of love, to laugh and to cry, and mostly, to be with _him_. Great gods and goddesses above, I have never wanted to be anything other than human, Ramone. Tell me, am I asking for too much?

"Why wouldn't I be afraid? I feel like Norman: I'm not programmed to respond in that area. Shit! I'm not designed for this, Ramone. I mean I'm doing the best I can, and up until now I think I've done pretty damn well, but this last thing, this freaking prescience business – whatever it is and wherever it came from – it's too much. It's one cheap rail drink too many from the existential bar and grill."

It was then that the Captain had an epiphany – his sanity, he suddenly understood, was like a balloon, tugging stubbornly at its tether, and if he let it go it would not come back at all. "So fuck, no. I don't want to open my mind, Ramone," his voice sounded almost breathless. "Because I'm afraid I'm going to lose it. Or maybe I'm afraid I'm going to lose everything _but_ it. Either way, all this scares the crap out of me and… And…"

Jack covered his face with his free hand, the hand that Ramone wasn't holding in her own long, webbed fingers, and began to quietly sob.

She acted quickly, moved fast, her skin a silvery flash like moonlight on ice as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close while he cried.

Jack cried for so many things that day, for so many people. For Rose Tyler and all the others whom over the years, the centuries, he'd loved and he'd lost. He cried for the many friends and colleagues who'd died courageously while in their service to him. He cried for the unfathomable, unspeakable horrors and terrors he'd witnessed. For the hurts that had been inflicted on his body, on his soul. He cried for his precious Time Lord's lost people, lost home. He cried for the aching, physical love he felt for that same Time Lord, love that would never be returned. He cried for his brother, his family, and his stolen childhood. He cried for the dreadful things he'd been forced to do when everything else had failed and all that was left between survival and catastrophe was him. He cried for all the times he'd had to be brave and strong when, like any human, what he really wanted was to turn and run and hide. He cried for all the times he'd been alone. For once, just this once, he cried for himself.

His salty tears fell upon the soft, warm shoulder of a woman he did not know. Perhaps that was exactly why it was so easy for him to cry: there were no presumptions here; he was a stranger to her… Or was he? The question shocked him slightly, as did the fact that her sharpish, metallic-looking silvery skin was so warm, was so amazingly comfortable, and comforting, against the bare surface of his face. Eventually Jack's sobs slowed, stopped.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For being so pathetic."

She leaned back but still held on to him with her long, slender arms. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me, Jack Harkness," and he did. "You are many, many things, but not a single, solitary one of them is pathetic. Nor are you worthless or wretched or miserable."

He couldn't help but smile, "How about heartbreaking? Am I heartbreaking?"

She laughed and it sounded like a small bell chiming. "I can imagine you are capable of breaking many hearts, Captain Harkness. But if you are instead asking if I feel sorry for you, I can only tell you no. I do not pity you."

"Crap," said Jack. "Does that mean no sympathy sex then?" He looked at her slyly, "Oh! Did I say that out loud?"

She laughed again, dropped her arms from around his shoulders.

He reached out a hand, "May I?"

She nodded and he touched her long, green, shining tresses. Their eyes met, held as he stroked her hair back from her face several times and then slowly, carefully, moved his hand lower, traced a languid line across her cheekbone, with his fingertips touched her lips, then continued down along that inhumanly perfect long neck. He gently stroked one of the slits above her clavicle, felt it move as she breathed. "I don't want to stop," he murmured.

She shook her head, looked even deeper into his eyes, "Then don't."

He gently, tenderly cupped one of those exquisite, perfect breasts in his hand. Felt her shiver with pleasure. He leaned over, brought his lips to her nipple, kissed it lightly, and then looked back up into her face, his eyes searching hers.

"Do you? Can you? Would you?" He felt like a teenager, stumbling over his words. He was expecting her to say _no_… Was ready for her to say _no_ and then have to crack a joke, laugh it off…

"Yes, Jack. Yes and yes."

He stood, lifted her up into his arms, carried her the short distance to his room – in the TARDIS all distances are short if you want them to be short – and laid her down on his bed. He didn't even bother to close the door.


	19. Chapter 19

**SCARS**

**NINETEEN**

"Eye candy!"

Ianto had been worried that they would get caught, but it'd never occurred to him they'd get caught this way. By _this_ person.

It was as if he could no longer help himself. Gwen Cooper was all he could think about. Being with her was all he wanted. When they were alone in the Hub it was too tempting – she was too tempting. Her warm body, her soft lips, her sometimes gentle, sometimes not, caresses. She was different than any other lover he'd ever had, and he couldn't get enough of her.

He'd become intoxicated, addicted to her. He'd begun counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds until they could be together again, wrapped in each other's arms.

She needed him more than ever and, it seemed, he now needed her. God help him, he was beginning to feel like the gaping hole in his life, in his soul, was gradually filling in. That the dismal, dark emptiness he'd felt inside his chest ever since Jack's leaving was dissipating. That the sadness and loneliness he hadn't even realized were there were disappearing. The world – the universe – was becoming a joyous place full of light and laughter and he often felt himself smiling, unaccountably, for no apparent reason. Random people he hardly knew were remarking how happy he looked.

And it was all because of her. Because of the love they'd found.

That wonderful, amazing love.

That illicit, forbidden love.

Of course the guilt was always present, gnawing away at him. But he'd gotten quite good at ignoring it, at vigorously pushing the shame aside and pretending it wasn't there.

Ianto had opened up Jack's bedroom, safely hidden beneath the floor of the Captain's old office. Everything was just as the Captain had left it that day he decided to accept The Doctor's invitation and say his farewells. The room still had some of Jack's clothing hanging in the closet and folded neatly in the dresser drawers. His brush and comb still sat on a shelf along with an old, unused wristwatch and a pair of cufflinks. It still smelled of the Captain, that spicy, warm, alluring scent which made the young Welshman's head feel light and his knees weak; the scent he had come to adore so completely. Ianto had steadfastly avoided going down into that room – until now. Until now there had been only sadness and longing waiting for him in that space. Only tears and memories. Only ghosts of feelings grown cold. But now… now it was a place where he and Gwen could make love comfortably and in relative safety underneath the dim lighting and on the soft, warm bed. On the same soft, warm bed he'd once shared with Jack.

Yes, it seemed pretty safe. After all, who else knew about the bedroom other than Jack?

"Eye candy! What are you doing down there?"

Well, apparently John Hart knew about it. And that indeed was John Hart peering down through the trap door, which he'd apparently soundlessly opened while Ianto and Gwen were otherwise very much occupied.

Or maybe not so soundlessly opened… since they'd both been making quite a lot of noise just then.

Ianto heard Gwen inhale sharply. She reached for him, clasped her fingers around his upper arm and held on for dear life.

"Eye candy _and_ Gwen Cooper! Goodness! Well, I can't help but see that the two of you are busy and I'm very sorry to have interrupted you."

John crouched down, unfolded his legs, sat on the edge of the opening and smiled at them.

"Looks like fun! Any chance I'm invited?" He was swinging his feet back and forth.

Ianto briskly pulled up the blanket, covering them both. "What in the hell are you doing here, John?"

"What?! Tsk-tsk. Watch that language! Can't an old friend come by to visit? Have a chat? Maybe get a nice cup of tea?" John's eyes sparkled nastily. "But it looks like I chose an inopportune time and for that I apologize. I shouldn't have come barging in like this. Next time I'll call ahead. Or at least knock first."

The quality of his words made it sound as if he was getting ready to leave, but by the look of him there could be little doubt he was staying put.

Ianto took a deep breath. It was likely John wouldn't go away until he was good and ready. In the meantime, certain amenities needed to be offered. The young Welshman cleared his throat. "Captain Hart, can I help you? Is there something we can do for you? Something you require?" he asked in his most professional "gentleman's personal gentleman" voice.

Again John smiled that wicked, evil grin. "There are a lot of things I require, eye candy, including some of whatever it is you're getting down there – not that I want to permanently appropriate your girlfriend, mind you. I have my own, thank you very much. But, well, as long as you're asking, I'm wondering… any chance Jack is around?"

Little red flags went up in Ianto's mind as he shook his head, "No, he's not."

John leaned his face lower – precariously farther into the empty space below him than was probably wise. "Yes… I realize I probably could've guessed that, considering you've moved into his super-secret hideaway and all. Any chance you've seen him or heard from him recently?"

"No, we haven't. John," Ianto frowned. "Is there something going on that we should know about? Is everything all right?"

"Oh everything is fine, just fine."

"Is Jack in trouble?"

"No, no. Jack's good. I'm good. You're _obviously_ good. We're all good, eye candy. Don't worry about it. Look," John leaned back, glanced around and then stood up. "I'm sorry I bothered you. Forget that I was here. Carry on! Go back to whatever it was you were doing." He turned away, but then thought better of it and looked back directly at Ianto, his nasty smile replaced by a solemn expression. "But first let me give you a word of advice – a word of advice from a friend, from someone who cares about both of you, even though I know it's none of my business and even though I know neither of you particularly cares for me or believes anything I say. Take it from an expert, one who knows. What you're doing down there is not very smart. No insult intended, but I'm just saying that it's pretty dumb. End it before something really bad happens, because you know it will. Things like this always, and I mean _always_, end badly."

John dropped the trap door shut with a loud bang, as if emphasizing his point, walked out of Jack's old office and down to where his traveling companion was waiting for him.

"What was that all about?" Gray asked him curiously.

John shrugged. "Thought we'd wrangle us some reinforcements here, but they're busy with their own problems. Lock and load, little brother. Let's move out."


	20. Chapter 20

**SCARS**

**TWENTY**

_Teacher?_

_Yes, Grasshopper?_

_Would you like to tell me what you are thinking about?_

_I don't know, maybe._

_Why don't you give it a try, Teacher?_

_Um… okay. I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, John was right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this line of work. And I'm wondering what it would be like to be a normal person. You know, have a normal life with a normal job. Have a husband and a mortgage and two cars in the garage and a big old dog in the back yard. Maybe pop out a kid or two and watch them grow up and pop out kids of their own. It sounds kind of good to me right now, Grasshopper._

_That does sound quite pleasant, Teacher…_

_Yes... Yes it does, doesn't it? Riding public transit home every night, embracing the kids, eating a nice dinner, watching television, making love and going to sleep…_

Wil sighed, looked around her ship's control room and felt a cold emptiness seep deep into her bones. _It would be different, Grasshopper. A lot quieter and a lot less dangerous. Less stressful, too._

_Is that something you would find enjoyable?_

_It's possible. _

_Do you think you would be happier with such a life, Teacher?_

_I don't know, maybe._

_May I ask – were you happier before you met Jack Harkness, Teacher?_

She smiled. _To be honest with you, no, I wasn't. Not at all. But a lot has happened since then. I've changed. Learned so much. It wouldn't be the same. Couldn't be the same. I'm not the same person now as I was then, Grasshopper, and I think I might do better at being normal the next time around. _

_And you think these changes, these things you've learned, would help you to be happier?_

_I don't really know for sure, but I believe so. I sort of hope so, otherwise what's the point of all this?_

_Would you like to find out if you'd be happier?_

_That's exactly what I'm wondering about right now, my wonderful student._

_If you would like, I could take you home, Teacher. We cannot change what has happened…_

_I wouldn't want to, Grasshopper!_

_I could take you home. Leave you in a safe place. You could pick up where you left off. Create for yourself a normal life; build a biography such as you described._

Something suddenly occurred to her. She swallowed hard_. But what would you do, Grasshopper?_

_I would not want that to concern you, but you needn't worry, Teacher._

_Hmm... I don't know about that. I don't want to lose…_

_Teacher, I can make many journeys with you, but not the one you are describing. You know this._

_Yes, I'm afraid I do._

There was a long pause in the conversation.

_Teacher, may I tell you what I think?_

_Yes, of course and always, Grasshopper._

_I think the happiest I have ever seen you is when John Hart holds you in his arms._

She blinked several times but said nothing.

_Perhaps you could find such happiness with someone else, but I remember what you were like before you met Captain Hart, and I am wondering why you would want to go back to that circumstance voluntarily? _

She shook her head, suddenly uncertain._ I don't know. I'm not sure…_

_Do you not think you should talk to John about this? Tell him what you want?_

_I'm not sure what I want, Grasshopper!_

_Would he not be willing to help you try to figure that out?_

_Ah, you're telling me not to throw out the baby with the bathwater._

Wil felt the warm glow that was her ship's sense of humor_._

_That's an interesting way of putting it, Teacher. But yes, I do not believe you should discard John Hart without discussing your feelings with him first._

_Discard?! Oi! That's harsh! I wasn't going to…_

_Teacher, were you perhaps thinking about disappearing?_

_Whoops! You caught me red-handed. I can't deny the idea had crossed my mind. _

_I thought so._

_Well… It's always a tempting option and a bloody hard habit to break._

Wil went quiet and contemplated the mysteries of the universe for the better part of a minute. Or maybe five…

_I can be pretty stupid sometimes, can't I, Grasshopper?_

_I have noticed that your emotions occasionally get in the way of clear thinking._

_That's a very kind way of putting it!_

_This is not to say that you are the only human whose intellect is susceptible to their feelings. I have noticed John Hart's emotions frequently get the better of him…_

_Yes, John often wears his heart on his sleeve, Grasshopper. It is in part what makes him so special, and so attractive… and so damn difficult to live with sometimes._

_I am still working on comprehending the concept, Teacher, but you do love him, don't you?_

She sighed._ Something amazing connects us. It's deep and wide as a river, invisible and fluid, and powerful enough to drown in. Y__es, Grasshopper, I love him more than anything._

_And if he were no longer a part of your life?_

_I'd be miserable. Totally not fit for human consumption… God, Grasshopper. I really let Gray get to me, didn't I? There's something so very not right about him. I mean seriously, breathtakingly, badly wrong._

_I didn't think there was any doubt of that fact, Teacher. He is an extremely unpleasant individual, and as I have stated previously, a nasty man._

Once again Wil looked around her ship's control room, but this time she felt something very different than a cold emptiness.

"Grasshopper?" she said out loud in a strong voice.

"Yes, Teacher?"

"I'm not going to disappear and I'm not going to leave John. Quite the contrary, I'm going to help him."

"Yes, Teacher. How so?"

"I've made a decision, Grasshopper. I don't just want in on the fight. I want to take the fight to the enemy, to the Aedui. Let's use some of that intel you've acquired and figure out which rock those slimy pests are hiding under. Then we'll get out the extra-strength bug spray."


	21. Chapter 21

**SCARS**

**TWENTYONE**

"So… Tell me, Norman, what exactly are you?"

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"You have permitted me – most graciously, I might add – to understand something about those who came before you and who then left you behind. And I appreciate that, I really do. But now I'm curious, what exactly did they leave behind? Tell me about yourself, Norman."

"I am like something you have never seen before, Doctor."

The Doctor chuckled. "Oh… I find that a bit difficult to believe. I've been around, Norman. Not much surprises these old eyes any more. So what are you? Some kind of highly advanced artificial intelligence? The fabrication of a gigantic and very smart machine churning and whirling away somewhere or another? A machine tucked deep within the core of the system's central star, or maybe scattered among its myriad orbiting satellites?"

"No, Doctor, I am not that. I am none of those things. Or perhaps to be more accurate, that does not come close to describing me."

"Well, then, enlighten me, Norman. I live to learn! Well, that's one of the reasons I live, there are many other reasons, to be sure, but a big one – a huge one – and one of my personal favorites, is to learn. Learn everything I can. I'm all ears, Norman… Blimey! That better describes my previous regeneration than my current one, but you get my drift. Spit it out! What are you? Animal, vegetable or mineral? Soldier or saint? Devil or angel? What are you and where do you live and how do you know what you know?"

Norman appeared to consider something for a brief time. Then, having come to some sort of conclusion, he nodded. "I am everything and nothing. I am everywhere and nowhere. If I exist at all, I exist in the parts of space and time you do not see, do not even know about."

"Eh, what? Subspace? The Void? Dark matter? Pure energy? Alternate universe?"

"No, Doctor. Again… nothing like that."

"Oh, Jack would love this! You are so enigmatic! Have I told you about Jack? He loves the enigmatic. The more enigmatic the better! I myself don't mind it so much either, but be that as it may, can you perhaps be a little less cryptic?"

"I exist solely in the minds of those who created me. I am the sum total of all of them, Doctor, a vast network – a kind of virtual neural web that links together all those from the four races who have ever existed, and those who exist even now as we speak, exist in the realms of the unknowable and unseeable. I am a mere part, a small piece, but an integral piece, of what they are yet to become and what they are at present and what they have been in the deep, distant past. When they left me behind, they also left fragments of themselves behind as well – fragments yet nonetheless replete fragments. They left everything of themselves. I am each of them separately and all of them together.

"I can be many different things, an enforcer, a dictator, a comrade, a warrior, an enabler, a slave, a leader, a conqueror, a teacher, a savior. I can be all the things that those who created me ever were, ever possibly may come to be. I can be all those things and, yes, I can be even more. But… _but_, I was specifically created to watch. That is my essence, my purpose. I am the eyes of those who forged me. I am their surrogate. Their proxy. I am their caretaker, their placeholder. And I am their protector. I protect them. I protect myself. I protect their history, their future. I protect that which they left behind. I stand watch and protect everything."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, "So when I'm talking to you, I'm actually talking to…"

Norman, for the first time, smiled. It was a wolfish grin. "Now you have it, Doctor."

"But then, why the charade, Norman? Why the whole silly _I am not programmed to respond in that area _routine?"

The hologram (_and is it really a hologram or just what they've chosen to show me?_ The Doctor idly wondered) shrugged. "They… we… had become perhaps a bit too complacent. A bit too comfortable, even restful. We weren't actually asleep, but we were otherwise occupied, not paying as close attention as we should've been to the physical realm we'd left behind. _Mea culpa, _Doctor."

"Don't feel badly, nothing new there, Norman. It's hard to get everything right all the time. Nevertheless… let me get this straight. Along with all the other existential stuff, you're telling me you're not perfect?"

"No civilization, no race, no single being is perfect Doctor."

"Oi! I take that personally!" The Doctor laughed, and then stood up. "And now we come to the crux of the matter, Norman. What changed? What made you sit up and take notice? More importantly, why did you let us – Jack and me – in? Where no one else had gone before?"

"We let you in because of who you are."

"Ah! You mean me? A Time Lord? A Time Lord from Gallifrey?"

Norman shook his head. "Actually it is your traveling companion…"

"Jack?"

"Yes, Jack."

For the briefest time a look of puzzlement crossed the Time Lord's face. "Wait. What? You believed he was a threat?"

"That is true. There was something about your companion that threatened us at first. We admit, though, that our initial impression was incorrect. Again we do not imply that we are perfect. It took some time to evaluate him. He is…"

"Impossible!" The Doctor interrupted Norman smugly. "You're going to say he is impossible aren't you?"

"We were going to say unique."

"Right, close enough. He likes being called impossible but unique will probably work, too."

"In truth it would appear that he likes to be called neither."

"Ah, I see." The Time Lord's expression turned hard. "Are you talking with him as well right now?"

There was no response so after a few moments The Doctor continued, though his cheerful tone of voice had been replaced by one far more serious.

"You're right. Jack _is_ special. He is…" The Lord of Time inhaled sharply as his mind wandered through myriad images of his friend Jack Harkness. He chose his subsequent words with infinite, painstaking care, "…worth protecting."

"Initially we were quite intrigued by Jack. This we've already explained. But as we roused ourselves we came to understand what he is – his importance to this and to other realms. You are correct, he is indeed worth protecting. Our initial sense of curiosity has transformed into determined concern and apprehension. As we become more and more aware of the recent events involving your companion and you, we cannot help but notice things are not as they should be."

The Doctor scowled, "Things? What do you mean _things_?"

"We now see, we now understand. The loss, the destruction of your people has left open in spacetime a gaping wound. A wound that is about to become infected by a most unwelcome contagion. As you say, there is a vacuum – a terrible emptiness left behind by the elimination of the Time Lords, and manifest wickedness now readies itself to sate that vacuum. Darkness descends upon the countless named and unnamed worlds. The legions of evil have amassed, Doctor, and they are focusing solely upon a single, unique, impossible individual. They are focusing precisely and utterly upon your friend and companion, Captain Jack Harkness."


	22. Chapter 22

**SCARS**

**TWENTYTWO**

Ianto Jones threw the blanket aside and jumped out of bed. He began rummaging around the floor, picking up stray items of clothing and putting them on as he found them. A sock, underwear, his shirt…

"What are you doing?" Gwen asked.

"I'm getting dressed," he said flatly.

"I see that. But why? Where are you going?"

He looked at her as he buttoned up his shirt, "He's right, you know. John. This is going to end badly and we've got to stop it now. This instant. Before it's too late. God help me it may already be too late, but we've got to end this here and now."

"Ianto!"

He sighed, sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. "He's dead right. You know it, I know it. He's right and it doesn't matter that you need me or that I need you. It doesn't matter that I want you more than anything else in the world right now. He's right, Gwen. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"Ianto, please!" There were tears in her eyes.

"Please _what_ Gwen? Think about it. Where could this possibly go that isn't a disaster? What direction is there other than down?" He leaned over, picked up his other sock and jammed his foot into it. "There's no future for us as a couple other than just like John said, a future where something really, really bad happens."

"Stop talking about John like he's some sort of fucking oracle!" Gwen hissed. "He's a degenerate, recidivist villain. You can't believe him, that bullshit he tried to feed you! He's a compulsive liar. He's probably just jealous. Odds are Wil gave him his marching orders. Kicked him out of the house. And now he's looking to make trouble, or he's looking for someone else to leech off of, the no-good parasite…" She reached for him but the Welshman slipped out of her grasp and stood up. Ianto looked down at her sadly and saw that there were tears streaming down her face.

"I'm sorry Gwen, but it's over. That bloody could've been Rhys, not John up there. I'm sure John didn't intend it, or maybe he did, but he gave us a gift – a warning – and we need to make good use of it. I don't want to hurt you or your husband, and that's exactly what is going to happen, if not something worse, if we don't put an end to what we're doing. I know you're going to hate me for this but I swear to you, if we allow our affair to continue hate will be the least of my – of our – worries. God help me but I want you, Gwen, and I need you as much if not more than you need me, but I can't live like this. And I promise, when you start feeling better, when you start feeling more like yourself, and you will you know, you will get better, you won't be able to live like this either."

He put on his pants and zipped them up. "I'll admit, though, you are right about one thing."

"What's that?" she hiccupped.

"John was lying about Jack."

She sat up, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he was lying through his teeth when he said Jack is all right. Jack is most definitely not all right."

"But… how? How can you tell?"

Ianto sat down again, pulled on one of his shoes and laced it up. "I don't know, I could just tell. I know John pretty well – I've seen him naked you know," he winked at her then grabbed his other shoe. "But seriously, there was something in his eyes, in his expression. Even though he was being snarky, he was worried. The man was really, really worried." Finally finished with dressing he shifted, looked squarely at her. "I think he's scared, too. I don't know… it's like I could smell it or something. The way he looked, the way he sounded. He's definitely distressed. Jack's in trouble, Gwen. You can bet on it."

"Right," she nodded, took a deep breath. "What should we do?"

He stood again, offered Gwen his hand and raised her off the bed to her feet. "I think you should contact Martha, see if she can reach The Doctor or the Captain on that special mobile of hers. I'm going to assume she won't be able to because she never can, the damn thing is worse than useless, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't try. Then I think the two of you should start canvassing our sources. Every single one of them. See if something big is going on out there that we're not aware of. Considering Jack is involved, God knows what that might be – probably some sort of interstellar war or galactic cataclysm or the abduction of a beautiful alien princess or important politician or something like that. Anywhere there's serious trouble," he smiled wanly, "Jack can't be far away."

He picked up her shirt, brushed it off gently and handed it to her. "What about you?" she asked as she pulled it on over her head. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Um, if you're okay with all this, then I have something important I need to do. I won't be long."

She looked at him, nodded again. "Sure, that's fine." Then she smiled sadly, "Back to work, huh?"

"Yeah," he returned the nod and the smile, "back to work."

With a loud grunt Ianto pushed open the trap door and climbed out of the bedroom. He walked swiftly to his desk, took something out of the drawer, checked it, and stuck it deep into his suit coat pocket.

Then he went to the SUV. It was only a short drive to the freight company. He knew the person he was looking for would be there, seeing that it was mid-day.

He walked in, greeted the receptionist with a big smile. "Is his eminence in?"

She smiled brightly and tilted her head, "Go ahead, love, he's back there."

He nodded and walked to the rear office and knocked on the doorframe. "Rhys? You have a minute?"

"Ianto! For you, never!" Rhys laughed and then smiled, "Come on in, mate! Make yourself at home."

Ianto quietly closed the door behind him and Rhys pulled a face, "Oh! Serious, eh? Well… sit down. What is it?"

"I have two things, or maybe only one, depending on how the first thing goes."

"Ianto, you're not making much sense."

The young Welshman pulled a gun out of his coat pocket and with a single index finger slid it slowly across the desk toward Rhys and then withdrew his hand.

"What's this then?" Rhys was still smiling but the wattage had decreased significantly.

"A Walter P99 9mm caliber, fifteen-round magazine, silvercap hollow-points."

"No shit?! Ianto, now you're really not making sense. And you're worrying me. What is it lad?"

Ianto smiled thinly. Rhys had taken to calling him lad even though in reality the two of them weren't that far apart in age.

"It's Gwen, Rhys."

"What about her?" Rhys leaned forward, his face going rigid.

Ianto dry swallowed. "Um, we've been having an affair."

"I know."

"Y-You know?"

Rhys nodded sadly, "I know."

"B-But how?"

"When you love someone and live with them and see them every day you know. You can tell. You can feel it in your gut, in your bones. You just know… unless you choose not to know."

Ianto leaned back in his chair, "God," he whispered.

"Is it over?"

"What?"

"Is the affair over?"

Ianto met the other man's eyes, held them, "Yes, yes it is."

"Good."

They stared at each other for a long while. Then Rhys glanced down at the table, at the gun Ianto had slid toward him.

"What's this for then?"

"In case you wanted to shoot me."

Rhys pulled open a desk drawer, looked at its contents and then shut it, "I have my own gun."

"In case you didn't want to use it."

"Ah. I see. Considerate of you. Thanks, but no." He slid the Walter back toward Ianto. "There'll be no shooting of you today."

Ianto nodded, slipped the gun back into his suit coat pocket.

Again there was a long silence and again Rhys broke it. "What's the other thing?"

"John Hart just paid us a brief visit."

Rhys exhaled loudly but said nothing.

"Jack is in trouble. I think Torchwood could probably use your help."

"Oh! Well then, that's different." He once more opened the drawer, took out his gun, checked the safety and then stood. "Desert Eagle forty-four magnum semi-automatic, seven-round magazine."

Ianto nodded appreciatively, "So you're packing now?"

"When I'm with anyone from Torchwood, damned straight."


	23. Chapter 23

**SCARS**

**TWENTYTHREE**

"Jack?"

"Yes, Ramone?"

"You _are_ human, you know."

"Am I? Am I really?"

They were lying in each other's arms, amid the disarrayed linens and pillows, their bodies stretched out across his bed.

"You are the most human of any human being who has ever lived."

He smiled at her, although it was an odd sort of smile. "Funny, with all that's happened to me I don't feel like it, although I have to admit…" He sighed softly, "I do feel pretty lucky right now."

She did not return his smile. "That which has happened to you will not persist indefinitely, Jack Harkness. It will fade, slowly. The burden of knowing fully, of seeing clearly, will quietly dissipate over time. Until then you must continue to live with the knowledge of things you should not, could not, and cannot know. Things you may not wish to know and would rather not know. You will need to be patient; do not allow this to consume you or dominate your thoughts." She paused, briefly, her eyes painting his face. "I have done what I can to help, to alleviate your pain and suffering. Just as you have helped and soothed countless others… most recently a woman who is of great importance to you, and whom you rightly or wrongly feel responsible for. You greatly eased her mind and her burden, Jack, and now in turn I have eased yours. The transformation inside of you has been lessened but not totally eliminated. Be strong of heart and serene. Carry on bravely as you always have. The circle of life continues, as verily must you, Captain Jack Harkness…"

Jack raised his head, smiled again, kissed her gently, lovingly. "You have done far more for me than that, Ramone." He kissed her once more, but then something disconcerting occurred to him.

His smile melted into a slight frown at the thought of it, "My immortality?"

"Your gift of timelessness, of deathlessness, remains intact, as it always will be. When you are at last through with it…"

His body stiffened, "What?"

"When you are ready to give it up, there will be a place for you with us. We will be waiting for you, Jack."

"I-I don't understand."

"There is nothing _to_ understand. When you've done all you set out to do. After you've won your last battle, kissed your last lover, said good-bye to your last friend, made your final journey; when you are through with this life which you now value so dearly, then we will be there, waiting. Never forget: we will welcome you with open arms and open hearts."

He rolled on top of her, supporting most of his weight with his elbows, and looked down at her face. "This is sounding a lot like good-bye. I'm not ready to say good-bye, yet, Ramone. I've hardly said hello to you." He grinned boyishly, his blue eyes dancing. "I've not even had a chance to say: Captain Jack Harkness. And who are _you?_" He lowered himself gently, kissed her, and moaned softly as he felt himself quickening, felt her body shiver pleasurably in response to him…

And that's when he realized they were no longer alone.

He twisted his head around and scowled, "John?"

"Hello, Jack."

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I _knew_ I should've checked my horoscope this morning. Today is apparently my day for barging in unexpectedly and interrupting…"

"John…" The word sounded a lot like a warning if not an outright threat.

A hurt expression flashed across John Hart's face. "But really, Jack, you should've put a sign up or something. Like in the old days, remember? I mean how was I supposed to know? You even left your door open – what in the hell is _that_ all about? I'm telling you, you've gotten sloppy, Captain Harkness. And by the way, are you going to introduce me…"

Underneath him, Jack felt Ramone's body go rigid. "JOHN!" he growled.

"I know you're busy, Jack, and I do apologize, but we've got a slight problem here…"

John turned his head, shifting his field of vision off to the right. Jack's eyes followed, and then went wide in shock.

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Captain hissed.

"Hello big brother. How are you?"

Jack jumped out of bed, pulling Ramone along in his wake as the pillows and bed sheets went flying. He shoved her behind him, placing himself protectively between the woman and his psychotic little brother.

"Gray!"

"Yes, it's me. And like John said, so sorry for the disruption, Jack."

The Captain's attention swerved, swiveled, landed squarely on John Hart's face as Jack tried to detect from the former Time Agent's expression the merest hint of what in the hell was going on. The two men's eyes met, held.

"It's okay, Jack," John smiled darkly. "Really. We're here because we have something to tell you. Something you're going to want to hear. Something important. Your _girlfriend_ can stay if you like. Or you can tell her to go. Whatever you want. It's up to you…"

But the _girlfriend_ had a mind of her own. She stepped out from behind Jack, her skin glimmering like mercury, and pointed a long, silvery webbed finger at Gray. "You!" she thundered. "You're one of them!"

"What?" all three men exclaimed simultaneously.

Still pointing at his chest, Ramone took a menacing step toward Jack's brother. "The Darkness falls upon the horizon. The wolf waits at the door. You are theirs. You belong to them. You are their tool. Their_ thing_. They are the ubiquitous peril. The unstoppable evil which now threatens everything. _Everything_…"

"No." croaked Gray, his face a study in horror.

"No!" yelled John. "Listen to me! Whoever you are, Listen! He's turned. He's not dangerous. He's come to help!"

"Ramone!" Jack barked.

Her voice was about as warm as liquid nitrogen. "He is a threat. He belongs to them."

For a moment her focus shifted, she looked Jack in the face and it felt like a punch to his gut. Her eyes were not the same as they had been just minutes earlier, not the same at all. They were fiery, luminous, her pupils large and slotted vertically. Her stare was almost lizardlike and it seemed as if there was no escape from it. Jack suddenly felt horribly disconnected from reality: no longer merely standing on thin air, he was tumbling, ass over teakettle, into the infinite chasm below.

Ramone turned away, gills extending, arm still stretched out horizontally, finger still pointing. She took a step, then another and then a third toward the motionless Gray. A shining terror, she touched him, just barely touched him, with the end of her fingertip. Jack's brother howled. The noise was like a small predator screaming in mortal agony and terror.

Despite his best intentions, John fell back, stunned.

Consumed by abject shock, Jack was simply unable to act.

The air moved, shimmered. "Take us to them." It was unclear if her demand was actually, really spoken or if those four words were merely echoes. Ramone and Gray were already gone. It happened that fast.

"No!" Jack's cry was almost as loud as his brother's scream, the Captain's expression at least as horror-stricken. "Gray!"

The sight of his best friend in such anguish broke John out of his impotent stupor. Closing the gap between them, he went quickly to his grieving friend, enveloped him in his arms and tried to comfort him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Jack…"

Later – after John Hart recounted in clipped words and hushed tones the sequence of events which had brought him, along with Jack's little brother, to the Callisto system of the Pergamum galaxy…

Later – much later, after John led a heartbroken Jack back to the Captain's rumpled bed, laid down next to him, held him, kissed him and slowly, gently, sweetly, made love to him…

Later – long after John fell into a deep and troubled slumber at his precious Captain's side, Jack Harkness stirred, stared sleepless and unblinking at the ceiling…

Later, Jack imagined he saw a shadow move, thought he heard her voice, like the sound of the early winter wind wafting across a dry wheat field. "You are indeed worth protecting. When you are ready, come to us. We will be waiting."

The Captain flinched as if someone had walked over his grave.

John moaned softly in his sleep, threw out an arm and gathered himself closer to Jack's shivering form.


	24. Chapter 24

**SCARS**

**TWENTYFOUR**

"Do you think this is wise, Teacher?"

"What? You mean letting slip the dogs of war?"

"Not so much that as letting the war dogs slip while you are on your own."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Grasshopper. I'm not on my own, I have you with me. Don't forget it was just the two of us for a long time, and we managed just fine; better than fine in fact! Besides, I'm thinking we're overdue – it's high time we kick some ass and set off some explosions."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Teacher?"

"Like I said, I intend to take the fight to the Aedui. I've not forgotten – you told me not too long ago when we were back at the Hub – you were able to obtain some useful intelligence when Gray believed he was communicating with them. Am I not right?"

"That is so, Teacher. Although these beings are phenomenally powerful, I was able to ascertain in the case of Jack's brother that they utilize fairly conventional, almost mundane, methods of subspace communications. Those communications are strongly encrypted, of course, but they are no match for my code-breaking abilities."

"You are so smart, Grasshopper!"

"I owe it all to my Teacher, Teacher. However, I must inform you the Aedui cannot be said to live in just one single location. You cannot travel to their home world, for example, and destroy them. They are not centralized. Rather they seem to be widely dispersed throughout the innumerable universes of the multiverse, as well as all the inter-dimensional nooks and crannies in between."

"Oh, that doesn't sound very good."

"On the surface it might not, but the universes are loosely connected, as we already know, and the Aedui have evidently exploited a type of leak – a leak at the level of the quantum foam substrate of spacetime. They've found something we didn't know about – they've found a common realm among the universes."

"They _found_ it?" Wil was actually enjoying this conversation: her ship suddenly, clearly, no longer the student but in fact the teacher. And a brilliant teacher at that…

"Perhaps I misspeak; they did not so much find something as steal it from someone else… likely a highly intelligent race that they very probably obliterated."

"Tell me more about this common realm, Grasshopper."

"Teacher, this is where I ask for your indulgence as I now am entering an area of speculation rather than verifiable truth. This common, all-encompassing, realm would appear to be based on Platonic – on theoretical – mathematics. There are mathematical transforms that can link between the different universes; transforms which form extra-dimensional pathways. The long lost civilization which we surmise was annihilated by the Aedui parsed out these transforms and discovered the pathways; perhaps they augmented them or even expanded them. We will never know because they were destroyed absolutely, without a trace, as is the Aedui's _modus operandi_."

"This is all pretty impenetrable, Grasshopper!"

"Yes, Teacher, it is. To put it another way, here in our universe we cast hand-puppet shadows on the walls of our cave. But there are over-lapping parallel versions of the cave where other beings – for utterly unhuman values of beings – can sometimes see the shadows and cast shadows right back at us. The Aedui have manipulated those shadows, debased them, perhaps extended them, and somehow taken them a step further – to the next level. The Aedui are no longer merely casting shadows, they are casting… they are _projecting_ themselves. I do not know, I cannot tell, Teacher, if in fact the shadows are distinguishable from the reality. There is a…"

"A distinct blurring of the edges?"

"Exactly, Teacher. A blurring of the edges between shadow and substance, a blurring of the overlaps – of the boundaries between universes. And a blurring of persistence and transcendence. I do not know how ubiquitous or omnipresent our enemy might truly be. It is an entirely sobering thought."

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic…"

"Yes, Teacher. In this particular case Arthur C. Clarke may have hit it spot on. Using pure mathematics for such purposes is beyond our ken. It does seem like magic."

"The trouble is that the type of magic we're dealing with here, Grasshopper, has nothing to do with rabbits and top hats, fairies at the bottom of the garden, and wishes that come true."

"No, it doesn't."

"And… this is what you learned from Gray that day back in Cardiff?"

"In part. I also learned that the casting of shadows leaves vestiges – whispers of passageways."

"Ah! So, they've made a mistake?"

"They are arrogant and over-confident, Teacher."

She smiled. "_Oh dear_, as John is wont to say. Am I detecting a hint of antagonism, Grasshopper?"

"I admit that I would not be opposed to kicking their asses and blowing them up."

"Good! Then we are in agreement. How are our armaments? Our offensive capabilities?"

"We are fully _weaponed up_ as Captain Hart would put it."

"Excellent. Now, these passageways, is there anything particularly interesting about them? Perhaps something we can use against these creatures?"

"Indeed, Teacher. The passageways seem to lead to a discreet set of nexuses. I would hypothesize these nexuses are the Aedui bases of power."

"_That's _what I was hoping! I do have to ask you though, why did you not mention any of this sooner? And please don't say because I didn't ask…"

"Teacher, Captain Hart would never have approved of such a dangerous plan of action, of taking the fight to them, if you were involved. He is far too protective of you. I did not want to cause _issues_ between the two of you."

"Grasshopper?"

"Yes, Teacher?"

She smiled inwardly. "What you said earlier? I think you can stop working on it – I believe you have mastered the concept of love."

"Perhaps, Teacher."

"Well… what are we waiting for? Stealth mode, Grasshopper. Take us in."

There was a whooshing of the engines, followed by a different sound and it seemed to Wil that this second sound was something she ought to make sense of, but suddenly sense was ebbing fast in a buzz of angry hornets as her vision faded to gray. The noise became so loud it felt as if God was ripping the two halves of reality apart. And then everything was quiet for a long time.

The next thing she knew she was waking up on the floor, shuddering as if from a nightmare.

"Grasshopper?"

"Yes, Teacher?"

It felt like her brain was slowly rebooting, "What happened again?"

She tried to stand but to her shock and surprise it seemed her hands and feet didn't want to work anymore.

"Were we attacked, Grasshopper?"

"I do not believe so."

"Where are we?" She was crawling on her hands and knees, dragging herself to one of the consoles.

"We are where we wanted to be – an Aedui nexus."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?! Doesn't feel like bloody nothing to me." With shaking hands she managed to pull herself up into a standing position.

"Look at a monitor, Teacher."

She blinked a couple of times and did what she was told. There was nothing there. Nothing there at all. But what _wasn't_ there made her skin crawl, as if it was neither dead nor alive, or even undead, but as if it was something else entirely – only she didn't see it, she _sensed_ it. She sensed its pure power and its nothingness – its _missingness_. She sensed it and that sensation was one of the single most uncomfortable, unpleasant things she'd ever felt in her entire life. A life, if you think back on it carefully, which spanned the entire measure of a universe. She inhaled a ragged breath.

"I-I don't understand."

"We arrived but something else that didn't belong was already here. We entered the zone of its death spell or curse or force field or whatever it is that now floods over and around, and between and within everything; which now permeates this wrecked realm. Teacher, something beat us to the punch and it destroyed the Aedui."

"The Aedui are gone?"

"Yes. There is nothing left of them."

She gasped, "The passageways?"

"They are gone, too."

"Oh no," she whispered, sanity and consistency in an exponentially decreasing supply. Her student's sudden apocalyptic revelation baring down and nearly crushing her into the ground. "Oh my God, you mean we're trapped here? In this abysmal place?"

"No… No we are not, Teacher. That same power which destroyed the Aedui intentionally preserved us. We were safely set aside as soon as we appeared. We were kept quarantined, out of harm's way. We were also kept oblivious to what was occurring. You were rendered unconscious as was I – only in a different manner than you. But it or they have left us a path out, Teacher. There is a slender bridge between this Aedui realm of death and darkness, and our realm of life and light."

She felt faint. "What? Who? Who did this? Torchwood? John? The Doctor?"

"I do not believe that anyone with whom we are familiar could've come close to managing what has transpired here. Not even the Time Lords at the height of their powers…"

Wil was still not able to fully grasp it, the sudden paradigm shift. "They're gone?The Aedui are _gone?_"

"Yes, Teacher."

"And whatever or whoever it was that protected us… Left us a way out?"

"Yes, Teacher."

"Where are they?"

"Gone too, Teacher. No trace, no hint remains."

She took several deep breaths and murmured, "The Devil you know…"

"What did you say, Teacher?"

"Better the Devil you know than the Devil you don't. It's an old Earth proverb, Grasshopper. We may yet realize the full truth of it." She shook her head.

"Grasshopper?"

"Yes, Teacher?"

"Get us out of here."

"Yes, Teacher. Where would you like to go?"

"To Cardiff."


	25. Chapter 25

**SCARS**

**TWENTYFIVE**

John Hart was watching the Captain's face while Jack – what? – John wasn't quite sure. Jack had adamantly told him, more than once, that he no longer slept. But it sure looked like he was sleeping. The Captain's eyes were closed, his breathing measured – for all intents and purposes it appeared very much like slumber – although, granted, his face was anything but serene in peaceful repose. In fact it was darkened by deep shadows, and not the kind of shadows caused by the vagaries of lighting. Rather they were the shadows of bone-deep weariness.

John shifted slightly, and let his gaze travel around the Captain's room. Beside the open door one of Jack's dark blue shirts was neatly draped over an elderly wooden clotheshorse: _Randall's of Glasgow_ its label read. John smiled to himself; if inanimate objects could talk, what tales would that old piece of furniture tell? It had been in Jack's possession as long as he could remember. A bookcase was against the far wall, John squinted at the leather-bound spines: Dante, Goethe, Plato, Socrates, Tolstoy, Dickens, Longfellow, Shakespeare, and, somewhat mysteriously, Mary Shelley.

John closed his eyes and considered the situation thoughtfully. It was always good to get as much thinking done as he could, before the actual, inevitable, mind-boggling crisis came down. That way, when it got there and he only had half a second to decide what to do before something beyond the borders of sanity starting ripping at his soul, he could skip the preliminaries and go straight to the horrible mistake.

He wasn't sure at all what had happened earlier with the crazy, shiny, squid-girl of death, but he was determined to find out and knew very well that getting Jack to talk was the key to any such knowledge. Unfortunately getting Jack to talk was often easier said than done…

He'd also noticed, couldn't help but notice that The Doctor was nowhere to be found and he was extremely curious about that as well. _What is going on here?_

Again he looked at the Captain. Jack lay on his back, hands crossed over his bare chest, above his heart. For a moment John's breath caught in his throat and he stopped and tried to commit the picture to memory in case it turned out to be one of the last times. Things were maybe getting a little too_ weird _inside the love triangle from hell, and he wasn't sure how it was going to play out, but the bottom-line was he never again wanted to take being close to Jack for granted. Never wanted to assume there'd always be a next time, another opportunity. He didn't want to presume like he had before – before Jack had thundered out of his life and his bed, and left him cold and lonely and despairing. They still hurt, chilled him to the core, those memories, those feelings of rejection – at the time John Hart had thought his lover and best friend was gone for good. It'd been luck, or fate, or something even more indefinable or more profound that had proved him wrong. Whatever it was, John didn't think he could count on it lasting indefinitely. Life was just too full of surprises for that.

Jack groaned and shuddered as if waking from a nightmare.

John reached out, touched him lightly, and the Captain's eyes flashed open as he sat bolt upright.

"John? What…? God, I-I was just having the most awful dream…"

"Jack, it's okay."

"No it's not," his expression was pained. "What are you doing here, John?"

"You don't remember?"

Jack shook his head, blinked, "Oh my God," he half-whispered as he fixed his friend with a gimlet stare. _It wasn't a dream._

"Oh come on, it's not that bad to wake up naked next to me, is it?" John valiantly tried to smile but failed.

"I'm not waking up, damn it. I don't sleep."

John frowned, "Well then, what was that just now? A lucid nightmare?"

Jack dry-swallowed. "Sort of… only worse."

John nodded sympathetically, his eyes searching the other man's face. "And as long as I am asking questions, who was that you were with, Jack? What's going on?"

The Captain's expression changed to one of distress. "When I saw Gray, I thought… I thought you and he had come here to destroy me."

"What?! Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would I want to destroy you, Jack?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"That, erm… Wil and I…? Back at Iserliss's lab?"

"Oh, _that_," John drew out the word wryly. "I know all about _that_."

"And you're okay with it?"

John half-smiled, but his eyes were deadly serious. "Are you?"

Somehow, in light of what had happened to Gray, John's question didn't seem to matter; it hardly registered, and then only for a moment. Jack looked at the empty spot where he'd last seen his brother. His fingers clenched the bedding, seemed unable to grasp the memory that now haunted him. The Captain collapsed back down on the bed as if there was no strength in his joints or in his heart.

"But it's funny…" John said as he worriedly scrutinized his friend's face.

"What's funny?"

"Gray and I – we were actually here to _save_ you."

"Yeah, so I remember you telling me…"

"And I believed him, Jack."

"I know you did. And I think you were right to."

There was a long silence between them.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, John?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"What question is that?"

"Who was the dame?"

"Dame?! What is this? A Bogart movie?"

John shifted closer, brought himself mere inches from Jack, his breath warm against the other man's face, "Who was she, Jack?"

It took him a moment to answer. "I'm not certain I know, John. I thought I did…" Jack inhaled deeply and shivered involuntarily.

"What did she mean when she said 'Take us to them'?"

"I'm not sure, John."

"Where did they go?"

Jack just shook his head, suddenly tired of all the questions. Suddenly tired of many things…

"I think I can answer that," a familiar third voice unexpectedly entered into the conversation.

But then again, when it comes to The Doctor, should anything ever _really_ be totally unexpected?


	26. Chapter 26

**SCARS**

**TWENTYSIX**

Wil walked out of her ship and into the Torchwood Three Hub only to find three ominous-looking, heavily armed, fully body-armored bipedal individuals pointing extremely large automatic weapons at her.

"Gwen, Ianto, Rhys! What's going on here?" she asked as she apprehensively surveyed the drawn faces beneath the black PASGT helmets.

Ianto took a step forward. "Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing. What are you doing here, Wil?"

She shook her head, bewildered, "I-I came here because I have nowhere else to go."

Ianto's expression was unreadable. The tactical goggles didn't help. "Where's John?"

"I don't know."

"Where's Jack?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you know where The Doctor is?"

"I have no idea."

"Not being very helpful today, are you?"

Now she was _really_ confused, and growing increasingly alarmed. "Ianto, why the third degree? What's happened?"

Ianto thought for a few moments and came to some sort of conclusion. He lowered his gun and conspicuously clicked the safety back on, but left his finger just above the toggle. The other two followed his lead. "John paid us a short visit a while ago. It seems Jack may be in trouble. It's possible that John is, too, for all we know. He wasn't very forthcoming and something was clearly not right with him."

She nodded mutely.

Ianto continued; his voice a low grumble like distant thunder. "We've had Martha Jones trying to reach The Doctor but she's been unsuccessful. The three of us don't like not knowing what's going on, Wil. We don't like not being able to contact The Doctor. And we like even less being worried about Jack. In fact, you know all these things we don't like? We're pretty much sick and tired of them."

Again she nodded but this time she took a breath and spoke, "What about Gray?"

All three safeties clicked off simultaneously. "What about him?" Ianto growled.

"He was traveling with John."

"What?!" that was Gwen yelping, and as Wil met the other woman's gaze, she saw the horrific pain and suffering in her eyes. It looked like Gwen hadn't slept for days, her face was ghostly white and desperately thin. Wil recognized that the situation was on the verge of spiraling dangerously out of control and Gwen's fragility, if not instability, was likely the key to how badly things would deteriorate. She decided it was not a good time for holding back. She also realized intuitively that it was Gwen who she had to address. The way the two men kept glancing sidelong at Gwen… it was clear the interpersonal dynamics were charged. Were they afraid of her or just worried for her? Or was it something else entirely? Regardless, there was no doubt in Wil's mind that it was Gwen Cooper who must be convinced by whatever was said next.

"Gwen," Wil began after taking a deep breath. "Ianto's right. Jack is in trouble. Or I think maybe he _was_ in trouble. I'm not so sure anymore. And yes, Gray is with John – or at least he was when John took his leave of me. Gray came to us unarmed and defenseless, claiming that Jack needed help, pleading for us to believe him." She shook her head bitterly. "I wanted to kill him. I nearly did. But John stopped me."

Wil turned her blue-green gaze toward the young Welshman and dry-swallowed. "Ianto, there's very little in this universe or any other that is more important to John than Jack. I know it and I believe you do too, because Jack feels the same way about John. The two of them have something that goes way beyond special. They share something… Something intangible." She shook her head sadly, once again met Gwen's gaze. "John decided Gray was telling the truth. And I have to admit, he did appear sincere. He seemed honestly concerned for his brother. He told us the Aedui are totally obsessed with destroying Jack, always have been. He said Jack was in immediate mortal peril. And he told us, he admitted freely that he'd been their puppet. Perhaps a willing puppet, to be sure…"

"Shit!" Gwen spat.

Wil nodded, "Maybe, Gwen. But John believed him and the two of them went off to warn and hopefully help Jack. John never said anything to me about coming here and I truly can't imagine why he would've wanted to. Although in passing he did mention an errand…" She watched curiously while Ianto and Gwen looked at each other, their eyes almost hesitantly meeting, then holding. With an earthshaking jolt realization abruptly dawned on her. _So that's what it is_, Wil thought to herself. _The two of them…_ She fought back an urge to look at Rhys – the cuckolded husband – and rubberneck the train wreck. _What a dreadful mess. _She couldn't really be too hard on them, though. After-all she'd had her own office romance; but in her defense neither of them had been married… at least she was pretty sure at the time of their liaison Jack hadn't been married…

She was yanked back into the here and now by Ianto's quiet voice. "The Aedui want to exterminate Jack? You mean specifically? The bogeymen from Hell, killers of entire races, destroyers of galaxies, are after just one lone man? But why? It doesn't make any sense, Wil."

"It's a long story, but that's what Gray claimed. And he made a convincing case."

"Then why aren't you with them?" Ianto sounded menacingly accusatorial, and his fierce expression matched his tone.

"Because, like I said, I just wanted to kill Gray… and I could've; it would have been so easy. I had my fingers around his throat. I could feel the blood pulsing through his arteries." Her hands seemed to make fists of their own free will. She glanced at Gwen, noticed the malicious smile on the woman's pallid face. "It took everything I had not to kill him. It may seem shameful, but I made John leave me behind. It was the only way. I couldn't trust myself."

"There's no shame in that, love," Rhys said softly.

She screwed up her courage and looked into the older man's eyes. She saw nothing but clarity, strength and courage there in Rhys' familiar, open face. Wil breathed a silent prayer of relief. Whatever had happened, they were dealing with it – coping with it the best they could. Just like humans always did.

_In for a penny, in for a pound; now for the rest of the story._ "Shameful or not," she continued, "it turned out to be fortuitous that I did because something strange has happened, to say the least. And I need to know if you, if Torchwood, caused it."

"What would that be then?" Again it was Rhys, his tone calm, hushed, unthreatening. It felt like he was on her side, and it made her feel warm, safe and glad.

_A gentleman,_ she thought. _A gentleman under all that blustery Welsh machismo. A gentleman and a good husband and a loyal friend._ "It's the Aedui," Wil said slowly, "they're gone."

Ianto Jones narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean _they're gone_?"

She met his gaze, "They are no more."

Rhys whistled soundlessly, "What she means, lad, is that someone took them out."

Gwen suddenly shook herself off, took a deep breath, stood up straighter, "Wait, you're telling us they've been destroyed? All of them? Total, absolute genocide?"

Wil nodded solemnly.

"But how?"

"I was hoping, Gwen, that you might be able to tell me."

Rhys was regarding Wil coolly, "How do you know this?"

"Because I was there, I was in the middle of it. Could've been caught in the crossfire but someone saved me." She glanced over at the weathered old cabaña that was her ship's façade. "Saved both me and Grasshopper. And Rhys, you have it absolutely right – someone or something took them out."

Ianto smiled incredulously. "And you think that someone or something was us?"

Wil shrugged, "Well… was it?"

Gwen's face was transforming before Wil's very eyes. Suddenly there was color in her cheeks, a spark where none had been before. "No Wil, we had nothing to do with it. We weren't even really certain Jack was in trouble, not that he isn't almost always up to his neck in shit." She shook her head in wonder. "Who would be powerful enough to do such a thing? To destroy them like that?"

"I don't know; I'm not sure. And they weren't just destroyed, Gwen. They were utterly obliterated. Dissembled down to their smallest parts and scattered across the universes. Nothing is left of them. _Nothing_ remains…"

The conversation quieted as they all came to grips with what Wil had just told them.

"Do you think it was The Doctor?" Rhys finally broke the silence, his voice a half-whisper.

Wil scanned the room which had once been her home – the focal point of her life. That life seemed so foreign now. And the life before that? Before she met Jack? Even more alien.

Then she looked at Gwen. She could pity her, of course. Gwen was deserving of sympathy if anyone was. But instead Wil found herself envying the woman. Gwen was trying to straddle two very different worlds – the life of a dedicated and competent Torchwood employee and the life of a good and decent wife. She was trying and she was, despite recent events, succeeding. Wil opened up that part of her which she normally kept silent and hidden, and was able to clearly see all the different possible futures stretching out in front of Gwen. Among them that of a loving spouse, a devoted mother, a doting grandmother.

She felt a wonderful warmness toward these people, each of them in their own way so very brave. So brave and yet so flawed. Still, the flaws were part of what made them so incredibly special. Like all humans they persevered, even excelled, despite their flaws; maybe in part because of those same imperfections. Imperfections which gave each of them character, made them unique. Humanity's myriad weaknesses, combined with its prodigious strengths, surprising tenaciousness, and indefatigable spirit had made human beings singularly remarkable among the many exceptional races of the universe. _Small wonder The Doctor loves them so much_, she concluded.

_Teacher?_

_Yes, Grasshopper?_

_Not them, us._

_What? _

_Not loves them, Teacher. Loves us. Do not forget…_

_Ah! You're right. I'm human, too._

_Indeed you are._

_Well… thank you for the reminder, my wonderful student._

_Any time, Teacher._

She smiled.


	27. Chapter 27

**SCARS**

**TWENTYSEVEN**

"Doctor!"

"Captain."

"H-How long have you been watching us?"

The Lord of Time smiled faintly, "I have two answers to that question, Jack. The first is only for a few moments. The second is that on this ship nothing escapes my attention. I am aware of everything that happens inside the TARDIS, whether I'm aboard or not. If you fully opened up your mind to her, you would be too."

Jack growled, "Open my mind? Since when did I put out a space for lease sign? Excuse me but my mind is not a boarding house with rooms to rent."

Choosing to ignore the comment, the Doctor smiled more broadly, "And hello John Hart! How nice it is to see you again!"

"Same here," John responded with a hint of a smirk, "although I have to admit this is not my day for dignified entrances – delivered or received." His face was turned toward the Time Lord but he was looking sidelong at Jack, wondering how the Captain would react to being thrust into such a compromised and, to be perfectly honest, prurient position.

And indeed Jack appeared disconcerted, but it turned out this was not because he'd been caught _flagrante delicto_ in bed with John Hart. "Doctor, where's Norman?" he asked.

The Time Lord looked over his shoulder for a few seconds and then back at Jack. "Ah! This question may take a bit longer to answer than the last. Do you mind?" Without waiting for a response he walked across the floor and plopped himself down on the edge of the bed. Jack shifted his legs a little farther over, making more room, and The Doctor reached out and patted the Captain's thigh comfortingly before continuing.

"He – and when I say _he_ I really mean _they_ – apparently has, to put it bluntly, better things to do. I think Norman had pretty much finished with us anyway, Jack, before he left on more pressing business. Near the end of our fascinating conversation I came to realize that you were also having an encounter, although it seems it was quite different in nature than my encounter with Norman…"

"You can say that again, Doctor," Jack muttered. John barked a quick laugh and in return got an elbow in the ribcage.

The Doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow and examined the two men curiously. "At any rate, I believe Norman had accomplished what he set out to accomplish in regard to us. For our part, we have learned what happened to the original inhabitants of this solar system – his progenitors, the Sphere Builders. And maybe we've learned some other interesting things as well; we can compare notes later. But the learning was not totally one-sided. Norman was confronted, perhaps even surprised, by an unexpected piece of news."

"What news is that, Doctor?" Jack asked darkly.

"That we're dead."

"What?!" John yelped.

"No, I meant that the Time Lords are dead. Sorry…" The Doctor shook his head. "He… they didn't know the Time Lords had been annihilated. They didn't know about the Time War. The information seemed to take them entirely by surprise. Moreover, once revealed, it did not please them. They didn't seem to be happy at all about the precarious state the last great Time War left our universe in."

"What do you mean _precarious state_?" that was John, again, his expression suddenly alert. This was the first time he'd had the chance to hear The Doctor talk about the Time War.

"The Time Lords did many things, John. To be sure, we manipulated Time using advanced technology which we by and large held a monopoly over. This technology allowed us, and allows me still, to travel in Time. The science of Time shined like a bright beacon upon Gallifrey and the Time Lords, obscuring everything else about us and bedazzling everyone with whom we came into contact. Although we were one of the oldest and most powerful races of the universe, many, if not most outsiders knew us only from rumor and did not know what our true purpose or mission was. This ambiguity was intentional to some degree, the Time Lords being secretive, even uncommunicative by nature and generation after generation growing increasingly withdrawn and passive. In addition, over the millennia we became corrupt in our inaction and our society stagnated.

"Despite all this, to put it succinctly, we were – for better or worse – the custodians of Time. It was our charge to watch over all of existence and to take definitive action when definitive action was required. When Time was threatened or debased or damaged we did our best to repair it. We also did our best to prevent paradoxes, or at least contain them. Our pretentiousness and aloofness cannot and should not ever be absolved, but to be fair, we did not deal well with the moral complexities which our powers engendered, and as we became even more powerful, as we perfected our science of Time, we became even more incapable of dealing with the ethical dilemmas presented by the problems we were committed to solving. Those dilemmas became such a torment that many Time Lords took up an oath of strict non-interference. It caused great strife between those who refused to interfere in the natural flow of history and those who felt bound to help when help was needed." The Doctor smiled grimly, "I suspect I don't have to tell you with which group I aligned myself?"

Jack and John both shook their heads mutely in unison.

"Even at the end, just before the Time War, we were still doing our best to prevent or repair paradoxes, and to stop the worst of the abuses. But since the Time War… well, it's just been me, and my track record leaves a lot to be desired." Jack raised a hand in disagreement but The Doctor waved him off. "No, it's true Jack, I've been lucky more than anything – on the Valiant, with Rose's father at that church on Earth in 1987, and in innumerable other situations. And some day my luck will run out."

The Doctor sighed and shook his head. "I feel like I'm nattering on too long about this, but Norman connected the dots, and with the Time Lords gone forever, the Sphere Builders decided they needed to come back home and do some housecleaning. They don't like the Aedui at all… Norman described them as evil and wicked. And they are quite worried for you, Jack, for your well-being. It is curious… They are certainly interested in you, to be sure. But beyond that, they are _extremely_ concerned about you. Somehow they know the Aedui have targeted you specifically, Captain Harkness. Although I must admit I'm not entirely clear on what that is all about..."

"I can tell you that," John said matter-of-factly. "The Aedui believe Jack is going to destroy them."

"And so…?"

"And so the Aedui have decided to destroy Jack first."

"Ah, I see. Hmm… Worth protecting…" The Doctor muttered to himself as he stood up and looked at Jack expectantly, waiting for the Captain to say something. He was not disappointed – at least in principle.

"If you know everything that happens on this ship, Doctor, then you know about my brother." Jack's eyes had gone icy, his voice hard.

"Yes, Jack, I do. And I'm sorry. I had no idea when I told Norman about the destruction of the Time Lords that it would circuitously result in what happened to Gray. That was not my intention."

Jack tried to shake off his growing rage. After all, the Time Lord was undeserving of it and he damn well knew who _really _was to blame for what had happened. There could be no doubt of it. He'd forgiven himself for many transgressions, for thousands of them, both big and small. But for this one? For the tragic loss of his little brother – only _this_ time while he impotently stood by and watched it happen? He wasn't sure he'd ever get over it. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "Where is he, Doctor? Where did she – where did they take Gray?"

"I believe we can assume they are using him to get to the Aedui. Based on what we know that is the best answer to your question I can come up with. Norman disappeared without explanation and without saying good-bye. He was quite rude! But I don't know where they took Gray, Jack, and I have no way of knowing what has happened since."

John laughed under his breath and the other two men looked at him quizzically.

"What's so funny?" Jack asked, the sound of his voice indicating just how close to the surface his fury lay.

But John had learned long before to not fear Jack's anger, no matter how intense. "It's just that the Aedui knew you were a mortal threat to them, Jack, so they decided to take you out. But someone else – these Sphere Buildings – realized you were worth protecting and decided to try to take _them_ out, first. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy and it's kind of funny, in an ironic, twisted sort of way."

"Yeah, real damned funny. Tell that to my brother," Jack snarled.

"Sorry, Jack."

The Captain got out of bed and started angrily picking up clothes. Some items were tossed in John's direction, others he began pulling on.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Is there something you're planning on doing?"

"As a matter of fact there is. I want to get away from this fucking solar system. This fucking galaxy."

"Fair enough. Where would you like to go?"

"Take me home to Cardiff, Doctor."

It was the way Jack said the word _home_ that made the Time Lord shiver involuntarily before he nodded, pivoted sharply, and walked from the room, leaving Jack and John alone to finish dressing in silence.


	28. Chapter 28

**SCARS**

**TWENTYEIGHT**

Wil smiled archly as she shook her head. "No, I don't think it was The Doctor, Rhys, who obliterated the Aedui. But don't take my word for it. You can ask him yourself."

"What do you mean, Wil? You know," Ianto narrowed his eyes and peered at her with fixed intent, "you're more than just a little bit spooky sometimes. And by sometimes I mean usually."

"Yeah, I am well aware of that. And I'm sorry for being so opaque. What I'm trying to tell you is that at this very moment The Doctor is on his way here, and he's traveling with two others – two human males. The first is an even six feet tall and has a month's worth of prickly, dark stubble covering the top of his head. The second has all of his hair, is a couple inches shorter than the first but what he lacks in height he makes up for in panache."

"Just two?" Gwen Cooper asked in a small voice.

Wil Beinert nodded silently and watched as the other woman smiled at her in profound relief. It was likely, she thought, that Gwen's two compatriots also felt that same profound relief. Gray had no fans at Torchwood. But as far as Wil was concerned, she was not so sure the relief was justified. Everything would depend on the Captain, for when it came to his brother, Jack's feelings as well as actions were unpredictable – to say the least.

Ianto Jones had begun methodically removing his black body armor. "So when are they…" he'd started to ask as he unfastened his ballistic vest but his question was interrupted and made moot by an oh-so-familiar grinding sound. The Doctor's TARDIS planted itself next to Wil's ship and as usual the Time Lord was the first out the door, closely followed by Jack Harkness and then John Hart.

The latter broke into a huge grin as he caught sight of the small group gathered in the Torchwood Hub. "A welcoming committee! And a sight for sore eyes," he laughed as he walked quickly to Wil and threw his arms around her in a bear hug. "I didn't expect to find you here!"

"Surprise!" she whispered into his ear. "Is everything okay?" She pulled back, briefly met her lover's gaze and then conspiratorially glanced over at an unsmiling Jack Harkness.

For his part, the sullen Captain was standing back, watching as The Doctor cheerfully greeted Ianto, Gwen and Rhys. "Well if it isn't the Cardiff contingent of the Baker Street Irregulars!" the Time Lord chirped. "My, my, aren't the three of you all dressed up. It looks like you're expecting to march into battle. And who are we saving the planet from this time?"

"Uh, we weren't sure, sir," Ianto truthfully admitted.

"Ah! Ianto Jones! Always at the ready, aren't you?"

Ianto nodded mutely.

"Well, good man, good man. However this time I think the three of you can relax that readiness and put those guns of yours away." The Doctor turned his attention to Gwen's husband, "What do you say to that, Rhys Williams?"

"Yes, sir."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes, "And what did I tell you about that 'sir' business?"

"Uh, yes Doctor." Rhys clicked on his gun's safety and then gingerly placed it on a nearby desktop.

"And Gwen Cooper, what about you? Are you willing to disarm yourself or are you thinking you might want to shoot me?" The Doctor's smile had slowly become darker, his face more somber.

Gwen straightened her back, squared her shoulders and met the Time Lord's gaze head-on. "Do you know what happened, Doctor?" she asked coolly.

"Happened?"

"Yes, happened. We obtained _intelligence_," Gwen looked briefly in John's direction, "that Jack was in trouble. Once again we had Martha try to contact you. And once again you didn't answer her calls. We were worried, Doctor. Concerned and very worried. And we had no way to allay our fears."

"Oh." The Doctor's voice had gone small and tinny.

"Not a very pleasant situation." Gwen Cooper was using The Voice on him. The way she'd been taught to speak authoritatively during her police training.

"Yes, well, I imagine that's right, and I'm sorry…" The Doctor stammered, Gwen's police voice having put him on the defensive.

"Apology accepted," Gwen snapped. "Now please would you tell us what has been going on?"

The Doctor's eyes swiveled around the room and landed squarely on Jack. "I-I think it would be better if the Captain did the explaining. After all the man can speak for himself and it's he you are interested in, were worried about, not me."

Jack blinked and shook himself as if waking from a stupor. "Actually I think The Doctor knows a lot more about what happened than I do. Doctor?" Jack's voice had an annoying, almost pleading quality to it, "Would you please?"

The Time Lord shot the Captain a dirty look and silently mouthed the word _no_.

"Oh. My. God." John rolled his eyes. "What is the matter with you two? I've never seen anything like the pair of you." He took a couple of steps away from Wil and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I'd be happy to tell you what I know. If anyone wants to add anything, feel free to raise your hand.

"Jack's brother came to us – to Wil and me – and told us that Jack was in trouble. Big Trouble, with a capital _B _and a capital_ T_, according to Gray. I think the actual way he put it was something like Jack was in danger of being eliminated from time and space…"

"He was in danger of being eradicated from all of time and space," Wil injected helpfully.

"Uh, right. _Eradicated_. Thank you for that correction. The Aedui are hell-bent on eradicating Jack. At least that's what he claimed. He told us Jack was in imminent mortal danger and needed to be warned. Maybe rescued. Well… Wil would have none of it and wanted to kill Gray right then and there…"

"Hey! I don't know that you needed to tell them that!" Wil was worried how the Captain would react to being informed that she wanted to murder his brother, but Jack appeared unfazed.

John put up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Calm down. Wil didn't trust Gray, but I decided to believe him." He glanced at Jack and the two men's eyes met and held for a tick. "Or let's say that I just didn't want to take the risk of not believing him. And Gray did seem genuinely concerned for his brother. So the two of us left to find Jack, and Wil stayed behind. If you want to know the reasons why she didn't want to come with us, you can ask her."

John paused for a second before continuing. He was warming up to the storytelling and clearly enjoyed being the center of attention. "As you already know, Gwen, I came by Torchwood next. What you don't know is that Gray was with me at the time." Gwen made a strange, strangled sound but John pointedly ignored it. "I came here in hope of enlisting a few reinforcements, but found that you and Ianto were otherwise occupied so we moved on." He winked at the young Welshman and received an icy cold stare in return.

"Any questions or further corrections from the peanut gallery?" John's query was met with silence.

"Okay. Well, we did find Jack. I don't know if the position – uh, I mean the situation – we found him in was particularly dangerous. I guess it depends on your definition of the word _danger_…"

"Cool it, John!" The Captain had raised himself to his full height and was trying his best to give John the evil eye.

John Hart grinned sardonically, "Perhaps you want to take it from here, Kemo Sabe?"

Jack nodded, more than ready to put an end to any further snarky remarks. "The Doctor and I had traveled to a Dyson sphere…" He couldn't help but notice blank looks on the faces of Rhys and Gwen so he shook his head. "It doesn't really matter what a Dyson sphere is, you can ask me later. What does matter is that we came across a very powerful and extremely enigmatic race of beings. Four races of beings, actually. They'd joined together eons ago in order to form a single great civilization which spanned the depth and breadth of an entire solar system. This mighty civilization thrived for untold millennia but then, after they got bored with this physical realm, they chose to move on to greener pastures elsewhere, mostly abandoning the enormous area of space they had developed. I said _mostly abandoning_ because they did continue to maintain a sort of presence in order to monitor the region, and we were contacted by them after our arrival. The Doctor went off with their holographic surrogate…"

"Norman!" the Time Lord chimed brightly.

"Um, yes, right. The Doctor went off with Norman to learn more about them. After he left I had an encounter…"

John snickered and the Captain glared warningly at him.

"As I was saying, I had an encounter with an individual who identified herself as a member of the Deep Ones – one of the system's original four races of beings." He shook his head, remembering. "She was _not_ a holograph, I can tell you that, but I'm not quite sure exactly what she was. At any rate, it was during this encounter that John and Gray appeared unexpectedly and my brother… my little brother…" Jack stifled a sob.

The Doctor came to Jack's rescue, "That's when she – when _they_ took Gray and…"

"And then destroyed the Aedui." Wil interrupted The Doctor, finishing his sentence for him.

The Time Lord's eyes went big and round.

You could've knocked John over with a feather.

And Jack, well… Jack, to the utter surprise of everyone, made a strange, choking noise deep in his throat and crumpled unconscious onto the floor, his universe having suddenly gone cold and black around him.


	29. Chapter 29

**SCARS**

**TWENTYNINE**

Jack regained consciousness with an abrupt sense of rupture, as if no time at all had passed: someone had switched his sense of awareness off and on again, just as his parents might once have power-cycled a balky appliance. For a man who didn't sleep, it was a most disturbing sensation. He took a deep, heavy breath and then another as he tried to slow down his racing heart, cool his overheated body. Gradually, he felt himself drifting off… fading into a deep, thick fog, a swirl of gray nothingness… his face the same color as the mist, pale, sheened with moisture.

Returning once again to mindfulness, the Captain kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to remember. He'd been dreaming just then… He grasped for it: dreaming that he'd been inscribing something black and scary on a notepad. Geometric lines and arcs, repeated patterns that sank into one another in a self-similar way. In his mind's eye he could see the sinister designs but knew he should not look too closely at them… That to do so wouldn't be the least bit safe.

Jack could sense that he was not alone, but he wasn't sure who was there in the room with him. In fact, there was a whole lot he wasn't sure of. For example, he wasn't sure what state of mind he'd be in when he finally did open his eyes and rejoin the _au courant_. Things were tenuous, at best; there was nothing but delirium's arms holding his sanity together. But the fact that he understood that – understood how close he was standing to the edge of the abyss – shouldn't that give him reason to hope that all was not totally lost? That _he _was not totally lost? That the abyss had not entirely claimed him for its own?

The Captain knew all too well there was a name for those who find that death and war, murder and mayhem get easier over time, get easier with experience: monsters. He had been and still was many things, countless things, some of them surely terrible, but he was not a monster. In truth he was weary to death of monsters.

He also knew there was a reason why armies send the flower of their youth to do the killing and dying, not the threadbare aged and cynical. He was not a monster and he was definitely no longer in the flower of his youth, no longer young at heart or in mind or spirit or body. On the contrary! It was very likely that he'd already lived far too long. He was tired. The irony of it did not escape him, lying there confortably in someone's warm, soft bed with nothing to do but drift aimlessly and endlessly in and out of consciousness: he felt really, truly, tremendously tired.

Was this what Ramone meant when she'd talked about him one day being through with life?

And what was it she'd said? _When you are ready to give it up, there will be a place for you with us. We will be waiting for you…_

Tempting…

Nearby he heard a rustling sound and some quiet scraping. _Oh God, be careful what you wish for_ he abruptly realized as a coldness beyond the bone chill of dawn went through him. Who was it who was there in the room with him, looking over his shoulder as he stared into the abyss? What it her? Ramone? When it came right down to it, he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to be welcomed by her and her kind – especially with open arms and open hearts. The murky fog once again rolled in dense and soft, surrounding and cradling him.

Later, slowly, sluggishly, he became aware of a different kind of sound that was relentlessly and most annoyingly worming its way into his consciousness. "Captain… Captain…" it was a most familiar sound. A most familiar voice. He swallowed hard.

"Jack, wake-up!"

He opened his eyes and focused on the face floating above his head. Beyond that face swirled the clean white ceiling of the Torchwood medical facility's ICU. Jack moaned softly.

"It's about time!" The Doctor was frowning down at him. "I thought you were going to sleep forever!"

The former Time Agent squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "I don't sleep…"

"Oi! Captain! Look at me!" Jack did as he was told and now the Time Lord's frown had turned into a smile. A thin, worried smile, but a smile nonetheless. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful." With a groan Jack pushed himself upright so that he was sitting up against the hospital bed's headboard.

"I can only imagine! Well, actually I can't." The Doctor adjusted his glasses and inspected him with shrewd intent. "Could you explain to me what happened to you?"

Jack shrugged feebly, "I think I got overloaded, or short circuited. I feel like I've had…" his voice caught in his throat.

"One too many shocks to the system?" The Doctor helpfully finished Jack's sentence for him.

The Captain nodded, "Yeah… Maybe… I don't know… Something like that… or worse…" His words felt very heavy.

"Captain, scoot over, would you?" Jack moved his legs and The Doctor plopped himself down on the bed next to his friend. "You want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is you need to talk about."

Blue eyes met brown and held them. "What I need to talk about? My life is becoming more like the mythical Worse Things That Happen at Sea than I want, and I'm starting to feel like I am the bastard offspring of a multi-tool and a crash-test dummy; an all-purpose, universal, punching bag. It's bizarre, Doctor. I feel out-of-control drunk and yet weirdly, coldly sober at the same time. I just don't know that I can…" Jack drew in a sharp breath, not wanting to, not _daring_ to finish that particular sentence, that particular train of thought. So instead: "My brother, Doctor. What happened to my little brother?"

The Time Lord shook his head. "All I can tell you is what Wil has told me. It does seem her story fits in with what we know already. The Sphere Builders, for reasons which are still not entirely clear to me, decided to take out the Aedui, and according to Wil, that's exactly what they did – and with extreme prejudice." He looked at Jack with the sort of sympathetic expression usually reserved for terminal cases. "As for your brother, we have no facts, just conjecture. And you know what I think of conjecture… it's usually not helpful and it is almost always wrong. It would seem, however, that the Aedui are gone and that Gray was made use of in some way, shape or form, as a means to achieving that end."

"You're informing me my brother was used as bait?"

"I'm informing you that I don't know, Jack."

Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "You're not telling me everything are you? Damn it, once again I'm a designated mushroom, kept in the dark and fed shit."

Without thinking The Doctor lifted his hands to Jack's face, kissed his forehead, then kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Jack shivered, his hair standing on end, as he felt the Time Lord's body pull back and relax.

"Jack, it's not your fault."

"He came to help me!"

"Before that, he'd been sent to kill you," The Doctor snapped.

"Weapons may have deadly or hideous effects, but they acquire moral character from the actions of those who use them."

For the briefest second, the Time Lord's faced flushed, "Good point, Captain." He removed his glasses and carefully put them away.

"Yeah…" the Captain breathed.

The two men were silent for the better part of a minute.

"So, Jack, what's next?"

"Uh, I think I want to be alone."

"Very well," The Doctor stood up and smoothed out his suit coat. "Any idea for how long?"

"A while," Jack declined to meet the Time Lord's gaze.

The Lord of Time nodded soundlessly and walked out of the room.

When, a short time later, he heard the sound of the TARDIS's engines, Jack pushed himself back down into the bedding. He lay rooted to the spot, his body clenched with the need to do something, the impossibility of doing anything, the overwhelming sense of despair.

He closed his eyes and wept.


	30. Chapter 30

**SCARS**

**THIRTY**

The Doctor did not say a word nor make eye contact with any of them as he walked across the floor of the Hub, strode purposefully into his TARDIS and slammed the doors behind him.

Everyone in the group was astonished when less than a minute later the Time Lord's ship noisily vanished, leaving only empty air in its place.

It was Rhys who broke the stunned silence with his characteristic forthrightness, "And what the hell was that all about?"

Gwen shook her head, "I don't know." After a moment's thought she frowned, "Whatever it was, I'm thinking it may not be good."

Wil pivoted and took a step in the direction from which the Time Lord had just come. As if anticipating her actions, John moved quickly to grab his lover's arm and halt her progress. "Wait, _inamorata_," he said softly. Her eyes flashed fiercely but she paused nonetheless.

John then raised his voice a bit so the rest could hear. "All of you: just hold on a second. Let's for once give Jack some space. Some time." He looked around, in turn meeting the gazes of each of them: Wil, Rhys, Gwen, and, finally, Ianto.

Ianto Jones made a ferocious grumbling sound.

John pressed his palms together in front of his chest, as if in prayer, his fingers steepled. "No, hear me out. For once let's let Jack come to us and ask for help. We all know he's lost his brother again…"

"Good-bye and good riddance," snarled Gwen.

"You might feel that way," John's tone became soft, warm, and somehow smoky, like oolong tea with a lot of sugar. Some way or another, this was a very _different_ John Hart. They all saw it. Even Wil straightened her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, as she took notice. "And rightfully so; no one would deny that. But Jack, I think, has lost Gray one too many times. And something tells me this might be the _last_ time." The former Time Agent tilted his head toward the empty space that The Doctor's TARDIS had recently occupied and shrugged. "I think this time Gray could be lost for good, and Jack knows it. He is going to need to grieve. Grieve properly like he's never done before."

"And that's precisely why one of us has to go to him…" a defiant Ianto gave John a hard-edged stare, but the young Welshman stayed rooted in place as if waiting for the inevitable argument. He didn't have to wait long.

"But we're not just talking about simple grief are we?" John asserted as he shook his head. "What Jack has been through with his brother… we're talking about feelings that we have no words for; no concept to adequately define. Believe me; none of you wants to go to Jack more than I do right now. None of you wants to comfort him more than I. But we all saw the look on the Time Lord's face. We all know deep in our hearts that Jack must've sent The Doctor away. It's the only explanation. Jack sent him away and The Doctor did not want to go. He was plainly not happy about leaving."

John paused, letting the truth of what he'd just said sink in: Jack without The Doctor? It was almost inconceivable.

Captain John Hart nodded his head sadly, "I feel it in my bones… I've known Jack for a long time, and I believe – I _know_ – that he wants to be alone. You just have to trust me on this. I can't force any of you to leave him be, but I strongly suggest we do. As I said, let him come to us when he's ready."

"But why would he send The Doctor away?" Rhys asked reasonably. "Aren't the two of them…?"

"Lovers?" John smiled. "They are more than that. They are light-years beyond that."

"Then why?" Rhys scowled, trying his best to parse it all out. "Why in the world make The Doctor leave? "

"Because Jack blames The Doctor for what happened to his brother," the shocking words came forth from Wil's mouth seemingly of their own accord. She was as surprised as any of them by their implication, but that made what she'd said no less true – at least in her mind.

Rhys' eyes went wide, "How do you figure?"

A perplexed look graced her face before she answered, as if in real time she was trying to puzzle it out herself. Then she scowled. "Process of elimination. John's right; I saw the look on The Doctor's face, heard the doors banging shut. His silence spoke volumes. His body language was pretty unambigous. What else could it possibly be?"

"Hmm," John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was there when that demon or witch or whatever the hell she was took Gray. When they vanished Jack made a sound like I've never heard before. _Ever_. It was a terrible and terrifying sound, and I hope to never hear anything like it again for as long as I live. I'm not exactly sure where The Doctor was at that time, but if anyone could have stopped her, maybe he could've. He does seem to have a knack for pulling off the impossible! Or perhaps there's more to it than that; I wouldn't be surprised if there was. Things are rarely simple or straightforward when it comes to the two of them. Speculation is pointless." He paused for a beat and then nodded almost imperceptibly. "But if what you say is true, Wil," his gaze met his lover's and held it fast, "and he blames him, Jack may never forgive the Time Lord. If there's one thing you can say about Captain Jack Harkness, the man knows how to hold a grudge."

Wil was intently watching John's face as he spoke, and something there, in those beautiful, steadfast and so wonderfully familiar slate-colored eyes, suddenly froze the core of her soul. At the same time something else hard and black curled through her chest, like a sharp-pointed iron spring. She dry-swallowed as her knees went weak.

_Grasshopper?_

_Yes, Wil?_

_Get me out of here._

_Pardon?_

_I mean it. Get me out of here. Now._

_But why, Teacher?_

_It's John… He cheated on me._

_He did what?_

_He and Jack… I can't bare it. _

_I don't understand._

_I've been betrayed._

_I still don't understand._

_You don't have to, Grasshopper. You just have to do what you're told._

_But, Teacher…_

_Now, damn it!_

Everyone in the group had been shocked when The Doctor marched into his TARDIS and left. Absolutely shocked. But they were all utterly and perfectly dumbfounded when without another word Wil Beinert shimmered for a second or two and then vanished, her ship disappearing along with her.


	31. Chapter 31

**SCARS**

**THIRTYONE**

No one ever had or ever would know the Torchwood Three facility better than Jack Harkness. Every nook, every cranny was as intimately familiar to him as the back of his hand (if not more so). And he knew ways to move around – to get from point A to point B – which no one else knew about.

So that was how, unbeknownst to anyone else, once again the Captain found himself up on the rooftop.

It was odd how he was drawn to this place, the summit of the Millennium Centre, high above the waters of the Bristol Channel. Over the years – the decades – he'd brought together many different people on that roof for many different occasions. And he had spent plenty of time on the building's crest alone as well, looking at the city, the stars, the water...

He'd saved the planet from the roof of the Millennium Centre. He'd fallen in love there. And he'd hit the depths of depression and despair.

This particular evening – when he emerged he'd had absolutely no idea that it was nighttime – reigned still and cold. Snow had fallen earlier in the day; the roof was still slippery with it. But the snow had stopped and the heavens above Cardiff had cleared. To the north an amazing shimmer filled the whole sky, the aurora borealis. Unusual but not unheard of in that part of the world, waves of pale blue, soft violet and some green – interspersed with what Jack thought of as red – swirled like drops of ink spilt in water and gently stirred. Accompanying the light show was a most peculiar sound – or sounds. Sometimes a faint whistling, as of the wind around the building, although that night there was no movement of air. Other times a strange, high, hissing noise, interrupted by a barrage of clicks and crackles, as though an army of crickets were advancing through dry leaves.

Intellectually, and as expected, Jack well understood what caused the aurora borealis: energetic electrically charged particles accelerated along the earth's magnetic field lines into the upper atmosphere, where they collided with gas atoms, causing the atoms to give off light. With the help of solar winds, of course – the same winds, incidentally, that propelled his beautiful, elegant inter-stellar light sail ship, Sunjammer, through space. Any schoolchild worth his or her salt would know what created the northern lights, Jack reckoned. But "charged electrons" was a dry, sterile explanation for a remarkable sight.

He remembered that some native peoples of North America had believed, perhaps still believed, the sky to be a dome, separating Earth from Heaven. They believed there were holes in that dome, and that the aurorae were the torches of Heaven, sent out to guide the spirits of the dead through the holes. Others believed the dancing lights had miraculous healing powers, capable of curing the body and easing the mind…

As he watched the kaleidoscope of cavorting colors shoot and stream across the sky Jack could not help but think of Gray. He stretched out his mind, trying to get a sense of his brother, the merest hint that there was something there other than emptiness. He was disappointed. More than that, he was grief-stricken. Had his brother's spirit finally taken flight?

He'd believed his brother was lost to him once before, and then, implausibly, what was lost was found. The resulting situation hadn't been easy and to be sure the fearsome prodigal Gray's return had made Jack's blood run cold. But that was then and this was now. What had happened more recently had frozen solid the Captain's heart. Now his little brother was lost again but this time Jack had been witness to the abduction. And this time Jack suspected the loss was permanent.

High above his head, hour after hour, the light show waned and then waxed again, but the flickering, moving luminescence seemed to slowly lessen as the stars made their inexorable journey across the firmament.

"My God, Gray, what in the hell am I going to do now?" he asked the glowing sky.

For a moment the former Time Agent wondered idly if he'd actually spoken the question out loud or merely voiced it inside his head.

Regardless, an answer came back to him – an answer whispered in words so hushed they were almost inaudible. An answer so quiet its utterance didn't startle him, but rather seemed to fit perfectly with the soft pastel night, the ethereal clicks and crackles. "Well, I don't know, Captain. I suppose that is entirely up to you."

Jack turned, stared. "Doctor?"

"Captain."

Even in the dim, fluctuating light Jack could tell that the Time Lord was covered in some sort of greasy soot. His face was smudged with the dark substance, his coat smeared with it. The Gallifreyan's hair was even more messy than usual, sticking out every which way, and his glasses were so crooked as to seem somehow badly bent if not broken. Jack inhaled harshly through his nose and pursed his lips before speaking.

"What happened to you?"

"I've been out looking for your brother." The Doctor spoke lightly but Jack could see the shadow of that journey on his face with the speaking. It hadn't been easy.

"First I went back to the Callisto system of the Pergamum galaxy. Or, at least to where it should be …"

"_Should be?_"

"Yes. Should be, because the Pergamum galaxy's Callisto star system is no longer there."

"Wait, you're telling me it's gone? Everything is gone? The Dyson sphere, or swarm, or whatever it was, is gone?"

As The Doctor nodded a sad, haunted look passed across his face and took up residence in his ancient eyes.

"Then I tried to retrace Wil's steps," the Time Lord frowned deeply. "Well, retrace them in reverse if you know what I mean. Anyway… my TARDIS… I mean _our_ TARDIS…" The Doctor was stumbling over his words, hesitating. "Our ship had communicated with Wil's ship. She and I… the TARDIS and I tried to get back to that Aedui nexus where she, where they… But…"

"Don't tell me," Jack interrupted – a piqued look on his face. "Let me guess. It was gone."

The Doctor pulled off his glasses and shoved them into his coat pocket after blowing on them a couple of times. As a result, a small cloud of inky dust dispersed into the air around him. "Not so much gone as inaccessible. Someone or something didn't want me there. It, or they, put up quite a fight. The old girl held her ground but it was touch and go for awhile. In the end I decided it was better to run away and live to fight another day. Besides, we have to think of Spike, you know…"

Jack didn't like the destitute look on his friend's, his Time Lord's face. "Yes, Spike. Of course. Uh, Doctor…"

But before the Captain could get out another syllable, The Doctor, clearly trembling, his eyes shining with unshed tears waved him off. "I'm so sorry about your brother. More than anyone I know the importance of family and I know how much he meant to you. I feel… I don't even know how to describe it. I feel like I've failed you."

Jack's heart warmed and softened as though it was made of butter. He went to the Time Lord, wrapped his arms around his shivering friend and held him close. "Failed me?" he whispered. "You haven't failed me. No one has failed me but myself. For the second time in my life, and I can hardly believe I'm saying this, I've lost Gray. I have let my little brother slip through my fingers and from my grasp."

"I should've seen it coming…" The Doctor's voice caught in his throat as he tried – and failed – to repress a sob.

Jack leaned back, pressed his lips for a few seconds to the Time Lord's forehead and then for the first time in what seemed like ages, smiled. "Now don't get all human on my ass, Doctor."

The Doctor blinked, snorted. "You don't have to be insulting about it."

The Captain laughed out loud. "Come and sit with me for a few minutes?" he asked as he tilted his head toward the edge of the rooftop.

The Doctor nodded soundlessly and allowed himself to be led to the building's precipice.

As the two men sat down, the stars and planets were beginning to fade and the sky was turning dusty above the scattered lights of the Channel.

Jack put his hand over The Doctor's, which turned at once to take his.

"You know," Jack Harkness murmured, feeling his heart beat in his ears, "I thought you had maybe left me for good this time."

The Doctor squeezed Jack's hand gently, but still he said nothing.

"And I have to admit there was a part of me that wanted it."

"Is that so, Jack?"

"Yeah, but not because I don't want to be with you. Rather I couldn't imagine why you or anyone else, but especially you, Doctor, would want to be with me. Not after what I let happen to my brother. It's like that old Woody Allen joke: I'd never join a club that would allow a person like me to become a member."

"Groucho Marx."

"What?"

"Groucho Marx, Jack. Woody Allen was quoting Groucho Marx when he said that."

"Oh, right." Jack sighed audibly. "Well, I'm glad you came back."

"Jack?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"You can't get rid of me that easily. You have to know that by now, don't you?"

The Captain nodded slowly, purposefully. "Yes, I suppose I do know, although apparently it needed reinforcing. And now I need to ask you something, Doctor."

"Go ahead."

"I know it sounds mad but I need… I really want to go look for my brother…"

"Of course you do…"

"You see, I'm not ready to give up on him… what?" Jack suddenly realized what the Time Lord had just said. "Y-You know how I feel?"

"Yes, Jack. Because that's exactly how I'd feel if I were you. It's the only thing that you can do – that _we_ can do. And I wouldn't have you any other way. It's not mad, not mad at all. In fact, it's… well, it's human… And that's no insult." With his free hand The Doctor gestured toward the few remaining visible stars, still valiantly fighting off the light of the approaching day. "If he's out there, we'll find him."

The Doctor released Jack's hand, unfolded off the rooftop and stood, "In all things it is better to hope than to despair."

Following his lead, Jack stood as well, the hem of his greatcoat falling gently around his legs in the calm predawn air, "Goethe?"

"Goethe," the Time Lord nodded approvingly. "Shall we go?"

"_Allons-y_, Doctor. _Allons-y_."


	32. Chapter 32

**SCARS**

**THIRTYTWO**

Captain John Hart had opened up his mouth to say something.

Well… to say one of a number of possible somethings.

The first possible something that came to his mind was the succinct, audience-pleasing, all-purpose, good anywhere and anytime: _What the fuck?_

Yes, indeedy. _What the fuck? _Because, you see, John had just watched his lover abruptly vanish. Disappear wordlessly before his very eyes. His lover _and_ her annoying, too-clever-by-half, ship.

Therefore: _What the fuck?_

It seemed a totally reasonable, logical, appropriate thing to say under such circumstances. Those circumstances being that the said lover, Wil Beinert, had apparently raised anchor and left him high and dry.

But then… He had also seen the look on Wil's face, and especially in her eyes – those maddening turquoise blue and electric green eyes with the startling flashes of gold – just before she vanished. What he'd seen in her eyes made him want to say something else. Something quite different than _What the fuck?_ It made him want to say: _I'm sorry._

What he'd seen made him want to say _I'm sorry_ because he knew damn well that he'd hurt her. In a millisecond he'd perceived the pain of his betrayal and unfaithfulness in her eyes. He didn't know how she'd known what had happened, but she knew. In retrospect he should have never doubted the likelihood. Of course she would know…

On top of all that, there was another word which wanted desperately to tumble out, clear and loud, from his lips. A distinct, concise and highly descriptive word: _Shit!_

Oh yes. _Shit!_ Because he was royally pissed off. What gave her the right to be critical of him for doing something which she herself was guilty of? _Shit!_ After all it hadn't been that long ago when she herself had slept with Jack. She was being unreasonable. Worse yet, she was being hypocritical, holding him to a different standard.

Yeah, she was a two-timer. He'd magnanimously – _nobly!_ – forgiven her transgression. And truth be told he had just as much of a right to sleep with Jack as she. Actually, now that he thought about it, he had _more_ of a right because he'd known Jack for way, _way_ longer… _Shit!_

But that's not all. In addition to all those somethings there was one last single-word utterance which was impatiently waiting its turn to be voiced, and that word was: _No!_

As in: _No! Don't leave me!_ screamed banshee-like at the top of his lungs, as loud as he could possibly manage it. Preferably screamed in conjunction with hot tears streaming down his face, his fingers grasping at thin air. His eyes wild, incandescent.

_No! Don't leave me!_ Because, to be blatantly honest, the thought of losing her and once again being left abandoned and alone in the universe unhinged him. That thought unhinged him like nothing else could. The glitter of the galaxy dimmed substantially when you were on your own.

Of all of the possible somethings he might say it was likely this last sentiment that was going to trump all the others. The other feelings were important, to be sure – the shock, the anger, the sorrow, they were all valid – but none came close to how desperately he wanted her to stay with him. He didn't care who heard him say it. He didn't care who saw him grovel at her feet, or who recognized his weakness, his vulnerableness. Let them smirk. Let them whisper behind his back. Let them laugh in his face. He simply wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet, at least. Someday, maybe… But not yet.

So John Hart was standing inside the Hub with his mouth open, as if he was going to say something. He was standing there, mouth agape, alongside Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams and that lovely, delectable piece of eye candy, Ianto Jones, when he felt the familiar tingle of Grasshopper's transporter.

The interior of Torchwood melted away and was replaced by an almost uninhabited Roald Dahl Plass. _Almost uninhabited _because lo and behold, standing close by the Water Tower, alone, in the waning pre-dawn darkness, and a mere few feet away from him, was Wil Beinert. Wil's mouth was also open as if _she_ was about to say something.

The shock of it caused him to clamp his jaw shut so hard that his teeth rattled.

She looked at him, surprise registering across her features, "John?"

"Wil?"

"What just happened?"

"I don't know," he said as he walked toward her. "I saw you and Grasshopper disappear and then a few moments later I found myself here, looking at you." _Looking at your beautiful, precious face…_

"Oh John…" there was an alarming, sorrowful sound to her voice.

"What is it?" he asked as he came up close to her. "What's going on?"

"It's Grasshopper."

"What about her?"

Wil reached for his hand, then thought better of it and pulled her arm back to her side, "She's gone."

John had noticed the interrupted motion and felt a wash of terror as cold shot through his veins. Seeing his lover hold back from touching him was horrifying. He pushed the thought from his mind, tried to focus on the matter at hand. "What? What do you mean?" He asked as he looked around, searching for the now familiar old cabaña. It was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?" His eyes once again met hers as he tried to calm his racing heart, contain the fear that he'd perhaps hurt her – hurt _them_ – beyond all hope and redemption; the thought of it split the floor at his feet, a grinning abyss waiting to pull him in.

_Grasshopper,_ he reached out with his mind. _What game is this you're playing?_

It astonished him that there was no response to his question. He couldn't remember the last time the silly ship wasn't eager to run off at the mouth. Normally you couldn't get her to shut up. Now there was nothing but dead silence.

John shook his head, "I don't understand. Where did she go?"

Wil felt as though a melting ice cube were sliding slowly down her back. She shivered involuntarily. "I asked her to do something she didn't want to do. I_ ordered_ her to do it. But I had no idea… I don't think she could cope with the contradiction. I think the cognitive dissonance was too great for her."

John was trying to think logically but his lower faculties were interfering. His lower faculties thought he should flee. That he should get out while the going was good. His lower faculties were still reeling from the fact that she hadn't wanted to touch him. His lower faculties were convinced that he'd already lost her, that there was nothing to do but run as fast as he could from the inevitable searing pain. Yet something held him back; something made him want to hear her say it, even though he knew it would hurt beyond all measure. "Do something?" he asked without wanting to. "What did you order her to do?"

She gave him a hard-edged stare, "I ordered her to get me away from you."

John spread out his hands peaceably, he ached for her touch, was dying for her touch. "Wil, I'm sorry…"

"Don't!" she hissed. "Just don't! I don't want to hear it."

His eyes flashed. "Damn it, Wil. You at least owe it to me to hear me out." He struggled to calm himself and half-succeeded. "Look, I'm sorry I hurt you, but I've never made a secret of what Jack and I share. From the start, I have never hidden from you how I feel about him. There's a ley line running between Jack and me, an ancient pathway that links us, aligns us. You don't need a divining rod to detect that pathway; Jack told me even that absent-minded Doctor of his has noticed it. I love him, Wil. I love Jack, but it is _you_ who I want to wake up next to each morning. It is you who I want to spend my days and nights with…

"M'Lady," the growing softness in his voice spread to his expression. "I can't change how I feel about him. Could you? Nor would I want to. But you and me together – I wouldn't have it any other way. You complete me, make me whole. I love him but I am in love with you. Please… please, can you not accept me as I am? As I have accepted you? Can you not forgive me, my _inamorata_?"

"Damn it, John. It hurts. It hurts badly." She blinked back tears as her heart and mind waged a fierce battle and then came to a gossamer, fragile truce. "But I love you. And I need you. And I can't imagine life without you." She reached out. Her hand touched his face at last, light as a moth's wing.

John took Wil's hand in his own, tenderly kissed her fingers. "I know," he whispered. And then, "Grasshopper… did she say anything to you?"

She regarded him sadly, "No. She deposited me here and a few seconds later you materialized. John, I know you don't like her very much, but would you help me…"

"What?"

"I do know that Grasshopper annoys you, John."

He laughed wryly. "She doesn't annoy me, Wil. It's just that A.I.'s make me uncomfortable if they think they're smarter than me – even when it's true. But don't think I don't like her. She's good to you and you care about her. That's all that matters to me. Besides," he winked at her, "I'm motivated – she promised to get rid of my scars."

Her eyes painted his face, "Then you'll help me look for her?"

"Of course I will! We can enlist The Doctor…"

Wil shook her head, "I'm afraid that's not going to work. They have other matters to attend to."

"Other matters…?" he pulled a face. "_They_?"

"The Doctor and Jack."

John raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "How could you possibly know this?"

She blinked several times. "I just do."

"Well, then," with a final kiss John released her hand and began pacing. "We're going to need a ship."

She thought for a moment, "Well, there's Sunjammer..."

"Ah! That's the ticket!"

"You know about Jack's light sail ship?"

"Know about her? Of course I know about her. She was my ship before Jack won her off me in a poker game."

"She was yours?"

"Damn straight, built her with my own two hands…"

Wil rolled her eyes, "John!"

"Oh snap! You're right," he smiled. "I stole her from a particularly unpleasant and very deserving individual. The fact that I did made her no less mine, though… That is until Jack got his grubby hands on her… _and_ rechristened her with that wimpy, touchy-feely name. Sunjammer! Phooey!" His expression turned more serious. "Do you happen to know where she lives these days?"

Wil nodded silently.

"Excellent," he returned her nod. "I'm sure my former partner at the Time Agency won't mind if we borrow her, as long as we have her back by midnight." John offered Wil his arm, and she took it.

"By the way, speaking of christening," he added as she marshaled him toward the tourism office entrance to the Hub. "You never did explain to me how that crazy ship of yours came to be named after an Orthopteran…"

"Ah," she said as the door closed behind them. "Years ago there was a television show called _Kung Fu_, about a little boy named Kwai Chang Caine who could not hear his own heartbeat, or the grasshopper at his feet…"


	33. Epilogue

**SCARS**

**EPILOGUE**

John Hart whistled soundlessly before remarking in a hushed tone, "It really is a palace underneath the pavement!"

Will had taken his hand in hers and led him on a merry chase down into the dark depths of Torchwood Three, far beneath the bright lights and constant hum of their Captain's treasured Hub. They'd navigated through what seemed like countless twisty-bendy tunnels, occasionally taking a wrong turn and encountering mysterious locked doors or other equally inaccessible dead-ends. Only the gods knew what Jack Harkness kept down there, and it was probably best kept that way.

Finally they arrived at their destination – an enormous, frigid cavern. The chamber was at least several kilometers long and equally wide. Within it rested Sunjammer – after all this time _still_ the most beautiful spaceship Wil had ever laid eyes on. Sunjammer's immense silver membrane mirrors took her breath away as they shimmered softly under the dim light. Although the damp underground cave had the feeling of a mausoleum, Sunjammer looked alive and alert. It seemed almost as if the ship was breathing. Vibrating.

John squeezed Wil's hand gently, "I've never seen Starfog berthed like this before, with her sails unfolded…"

"Starfog?" she asked.

He tore his eyes from the ship and looked at his lover's face, "Yes. That was her given name. The name she had when I acquired her. The name I kept." He smiled thinly. "When Jack got his hands on her he made a few changes and, as I said earlier, rechristened her Sunjammer. It's an okay name…"

"It's a _good_ name," she interrupted him, her eyes sparkling.

"Sure," he nodded. "It's a good name but it isn't _her_ name. She's Starfog to me. Always has been, always will be."

"Starfog it is, then. Fine by me, John," Wil consented, not wanting to split hairs over the ship's name. She let loose of his hand and began walking toward one of the gleaming five-hundred meter-wide solar sails, inspecting the nanotube mesh carefully. "I am worried about one thing, though… well, several things, but one thing in particular. It took the quantum-brilliant Toshiko Sato, in addition to a substantial support crew running the ship's land-based systems, _plus_ the assistance of both NASA and the U.S. Department of Defense, to get us off the ground and into low-earth orbit the last time Jack and I flew her. We have neither Toshiko nor an experienced ground crew at the moment… Needless to say we're also missing NASA and the D.O.D. as well."

"Uh-huh," he said distractedly as he looked at his Time Agency wrist band, "not a problem…" John was using his thumb to do something to or near the strap's vortex manipulator. A few seconds later, one by one, Starfog's pale blue running lights began blinking on.

"Hello, baby," he crooned softly as he looked up. "How have you been?"

Wil glanced around, momentarily confused. "Who are you talking to, John?"

"My ship, of course," was the nonchalant response. "Who else it would it be?" He smiled mischievously then winked at her. "Remember I said Jack made a few changes?"

She nodded mutely.

"Well, Jack likes smartass A.I.'s even less than I do. So when he got her, he put Starfog's A.I. to sleep, and let me tell you – she is a hell of a smart Artificial Intelligence. I…" John shrugged, "I just woke her up. You're not the only one who has a special invisible friend, Wil…

"Starfog? Say hello to Wil Beinert, sweetie."

_Hello Wil. I'm very glad to meet you._

Wil's eyes went wide.

**FINIS**

_-00-_

**Author's Note:** Starfog (aka: Sunjammer) first appears in my story "Plague."

"_When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing."  
_Rabindranath Tagore

**Afterword**

I hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks for all the reviews – I am truly grateful for and honored by them. Sequel? Maybe… Your encouragement helps… Watch this space.

**Postscript**

Master Po: Close your eyes. What do you hear?  
Young Caine: I hear the water, I hear the birds.  
Po: Do you hear your own heartbeat?  
Caine: No.  
Po: Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?  
Caine: Old man, how is it that you hear these things?  
Po: Young man, how is it that you do not?  
(_Kung Fu_, pilot episode)

_-00-_

"_Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on."  
_Henry Rollins


End file.
